Saved by the Bell
by IronSparrow99
Summary: AU: Welcome to the weirdest elementary school ever. We have crushes (Rogers! Barnes!), weirdos (Starks, Barton, Romanoff, everyone else...), nightmarish kids (Thor, your spawn are the devil), and more drama than a snobby private all-girls high school. (Heroes were never supposed teach elementary school.)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"_Welcome back to a new year and another day, students and teachers alike! Students, be sure to be nice to your poor teachers today, they miss their sleep. Have an amazing day, everyone, and I'll see all of you at three!"_

The morning announcements echo off the buildings and are almost drowned out by the screech of ancient bus brakes.

"All new first graders, this way! Line up here please. Jason, hey buddy, go line up with Mister Banner, please."

I pry the new second grader – an old student of mine – off my legs and nudge him to where all the other second graders are lining up in front of Bruce Banner. I grin at Bruce as Jason scurries towards the end of the line.

I exhale and try and relax the tension out of my shoulders as I see the two identical red heads in my line. The Odinson siblings – Erik and Agnes – are legend among the teachers. Seriously, we have contingency plans and everything.

I smile as my line is completed and shuffled into order, leading them down the hall and into the first classroom on the left.

"Okay, find a seat. You may be changed around later. Please make sure all your backpacks are all hung orderly on the back wall, we don't want anyone tripping, do we?"

I write my name in big letters on the board before turning back to the class that is now just squirming in their seats.

Roll is called, and then I clear my throat and begin. "My name is Miss Stark. I am your new teacher, this year just like Mrs. Parker was last year. Let's begin introductions, shall we?"

By nine o'clock, I have learned twenty one new names and already stopped the first attempt a mischief by Erik and Agnes.

"Does anyone have questions for me?"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty one, Anna."

"Why are you teaching?"

"Raise your hand, please, Erik. And I'm teaching because I'm smart and this is what I wanted to do."

"Are you married?"

"William, right? No, I am not married."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Yes, Vicky, I do. No, you will never know who it is."

"Oh. My sister has a boyfriend, too. Strange noises happen when she says they are hugging in her room."

I blink at the girl in the second row. "Is that so? Moving on."

I pass out pencils and name tags and have the kids write their names on the label; every core teacher does it with every grade.

I scoot cross legged on my chair and hunt after a pen for a moment before starting my supply order forms.

"Miss Stark, tell Billy to give back my name tag!"

I sigh as I look up from my fifty math books. I uncurl myself from my chair and trot over to the back right corner of the room. "Billy, what is the rule about taking things that are not yours?"

The boy sighs and studies his shoes. "Don't do it."

"Right. So why were you taking Britt's name tag?"

He sighs. "I don't know. It was pretty."

"Then you tell her that and ask her to show you. Okay?"

"Okay, Miss Stark."

"Good. Now, work on your own name tag so you can finish it before lunch."

**A~A~A**

Time flies when you're grading papers. When the lunch bell finally rang, I herded my flock of midgets down to the lunch and passed a metaphorical torch to the lunch ladies before heading back into the networks of hallways to find a few teachers I needed to talk to.

First stop: Phil Coulson, librarian and part time dean. I hold open the door for a few stragglers with half zipped backpacks before heading in myself.

"Come out come out wherever you are!"

A balding brunette head pops up from behind the big oak desk in the front of the room. "Taylor! Hi, what do you need?"

"Well, I'm on lunch break and I wanted to turn in these order forms and see if you had all the Accelerated Reading and DEAR stuff ready for next week."

Phil sighs as he glances at my order forms. "I should have that done by the end of the week. By the way, why do you need twenty tubes of glitter and glue? The janitor already hates you."

I sigh and lean my elbows on his desk. "I know that. But Fury's pushing this hospitality thing on us and the girls wanted to make cards for the nursing home. Tell the janitor I'll get a mop and enlist Clint, he won't need to worry about my mess."

"Yes he will. You teach first graders, and you have both the Odinsons."

I shrug and rock back on my heels. "Well, I need to get down to the office, so I'll see you later?"

He nods and returns to his book stacking and sorting. "There are rumors about saying something about going to Quigley's for a first day thing."

"I'll check it out, thanks." I call over my shoulder as I trot back into the quiet hallways.

I immediately head for the front of the building, making a beeline for the administrator's office.

"I need to turn in some rosters." I say by way of greeting as I approach the desk of Darcy Lewis; office manager, perpetual teenager, and one of my best friends.

"Well good morning to you too."

"Sorry," I sigh, "Busy day. But seriously, rosters, here." I slide the papers across the desk.

She takes them with a flourish and scans the sheet of names.

"You have both the Redhead Terrors." she announces with a low whistle, "and I was not in charge of this. Blame it on Hill and Principal Fury."

"I like all my limbs where they are, thanks." I laugh. "Did you hear about the Quingley's plans for after school?"

"No, thanks for telling me. You have like, five minutes to get back to your class, just so you know."

I glance at my watch in shock before thanking Darcy and hightailing it out of there.

I push open the cafeteria door just as the bell rings. I find the correct table and make sure everybody has eaten and watch as everyone picks up their trash, stopping them from throwing it at each other and convincing them to throw it away instead. I shuffle everyone into a line, assign a line leader, and bring up the back of the herd as we head back to the classroom.

I hand out the stack of crisp, new math workbooks on my desk, passing them down the rows and instructing the kids that we had half an hour unit specials. In that time, I wanted them to get comfortable with their books and start to work the problems on page five.

Meanwhile, I would be sitting at my desk if anyone needed help. Also, waiting for the specials bell to ring so I could finally _breathe_. (Not that I told them that, of course.)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Planning is a glorious time to teachers.

After I got my ragtag bunch of hooligans down to Coaches Odinson (Erik and Agnes' father) and Romanoff, discreetly informing them about Quingley's, I trudged back to my room and crumpled into my chair, pulling out my phone as it buzzed

**Bruce: **how you holding up?

**Me: **same as I was last year. How are my formers holding up?

**Bruce: **not bad. A lot of them revere you, by the way. Mind if i send Brian down?

**Me: **not at all. Promise to return him on time.

I shut my phone off and sit up. Brian Hillbrand was a feisty kid, with a curly mop of chocolate hair and hazel eyes, cheeks peppered with freckles. He was usually one of the main confrontational kids, snapping and snarling and broody.

Until last year, I became a mentor to him while I was his teacher. He has a section on his Individualized Education Plan, or IEP, that says he can come in my room before or after school or during specials if he needs a place to cool his head and talk.

A knock and the top of a blue hoodie alerts me to his presence. "Brian, come on in. Have a seat. I have about twenty minutes before my new class comes back in and you need to be back with Mister Banner."

He nods, his scruffy blue hood flopping against his neck, as he pulls a book off my shelves and sits in a chair.

I take some time to look over lesson plans and district mandates as Brian tells me about how he's doing on his soccer team, what Mister Banner is like, what his mom's newest art project is like, and the dog he saw on the way to school.

Soon enough, though, I have to interrupt. "Brian?"

"Yes, Miss Stark?"

"Pack up your things, you have a classroom to be in. Do you want to borrow the book?" I glance at the paperback he's holding.

"Can I?"

I chuckle slightly at his eager tone. "Of course. Just make sure it finds its way back home, okay?"

"Yes! Thank you, Miss Stark!" he cheers as I lead him down the hall, knocking on the door labeled with Mister (Doctor) Banner's name.

"Ah, Brian, come on in. We were just discussing reading groups."

Brian nods, his stone mask already slipping back into place, as he turn to me and waves.

I smile and squeeze his shoulder, nudging him into the classroom as I head down to the gym to collect my own charges.

I push open one of the big wooden doors, ducking just as a basketball flies past my head to rebound against the wall.

A shrill whistle pierces the air, and I stand to the side as Thor Odinson and Natasha Romanoff spilt two different classes of second grader into two separate lines, quickly guiding mine towards me and leading the other towards Miss Maximoff. I nod at the coaches and Wanda before leading my line out of the gym.

My watch says it's only two thirty, so I split them all into small groups and tell them all to get books to read until the buses and parents come.

The nice, peaceful silence is pierced by the shrill ring of the bell, and I immediately jump up and scurry after my students, now a whirling hurricane of activity, all books forgotten.

"Andrew, pick up your book. Agnes, Erik, stop tormenting Elena. Billy, don't throw your backpack. Alright, line up, come on!"

I lead them all down to the cafeteria - again - where all the dismissal groups are being organized. I direct about twenty kids over to where Mister Rogers, the art teacher, is organizing the car riders. I smile at Steve over the melee, giving him a curt nod. Five more kids go over to where Mister Barnes, on the fourth grade team, is herding after school care. Bucky gets a smile and a nod too.

I then lead what is left of my class down to the bus ramp, where the huge yellow monstrosities some call buses are starting to pull up. I line up my kids, ask each what his or her bus number is, and point them in the right direction.

After all twenty one of my newest students are sorted, I can _breathe._

I take my time strolling back to classroom, waving to some older former students as the speed toward where they're supposed to be.

I pick up the mess of books littering my floor, putting them gently back on the shelves before I quickly straighten things for tomorrow's lesson and shove my stuff in my backpack, hitting the lights and locking my classroom as I jog towards the library.

I wave to Phil briefly as I poke my head into the door of my intended target - a side room labeled _Mr. Stark: Computer Labs and Repair._

Yes, Stark. My dad was the brilliant teacher of Technology Specials and the all-around IT guy for the school. I poke my head in to find him at his desk, bent over a disassembled CPU unit and grumbling about his extensive engineering degrees and 199 IQ.

I have a 198 IQ, but the school could only have one tech teacher and he has seniority.

"Hey."

"What? Oh, hey Taylor. How'd your day go?"

"Meh." I shrug. "First day. When are we going to Quingley's?"

He glances at his watch. "Um, around five-ish."

"Alright." I nod. "But don't get drunk on a school night, please. I don't want to have to deal with Wilson subbing for you again."

My dad sighs and nods.

I hitch a hip onto one the long student tables. "So what are you up to?"

He sighs and sets down his screwdriver. "Martin McClelland brought gummy bears and stuck them between the keys this morning."

I wince as I get a good view of the mangled, sticky keyboard. "Just wait till I bring the Redheads down tomorrow afternoon."

He looks horrified. "I forgot. Whelp, time to break out the Nokias. I feel sorry for you."

"Me or my phone?" I retort and then move to dodge the screwdriver that clatters to the ground behind me.

I laugh as I leave my dad to his tinkering and prepare to spend the next two hours bugging that boyfriend I told the kids about. I make a quick pit stop to grab some lesson plans and seating charts before heading to the wing that teaches the older grades.

"Mr. Barton?" I poke my head into one of the fifth grade classrooms and grin as Clint spins in his chair to face me.

"Miss Stark. How can I help you?"

"I have two hours to burn before all teachers are to report to Quingley's." I report as I wave my papers. Clint just nods and drags a chair up the other side of his desk.

I peck my boyfriend on the cheek as I pull out a red pen and start marking the seating chart.

"How was the first day?"

He shrugs, his eyes never leaving the board he was disinfecting and wiping down - which gave me an awesome view of his butt, by the way - as he writes the next days' agenda. "Not bad. According to the rumor mill, I am now 'That One Hot Farm Boy'."

I smile slightly. "Well, you are from Iowa-" I point out as his rag flicks the back of my head, "-but as long as fifth graders aren't your thing, I'm good."

He gives me a blinding grin. "Nah, I like people that can drink if need be."

I grin and then sigh as I return to my papers.

Stupid school board. Ruining my time with my boyfriend.

**A~A~A**

"_Attention all teachers: Mr. Stark would like to announce that adults-only post-first day happy hour at Quingley's has officially started and he better see you all there. I know I'll be there."_

I grin and shoulder my bag and jog down the hall. I've been teaching here for two years, and, like clockwork, the usual crew will meet up at our favorite bar - a hole in the wall named Quingley's – before the end of the first week to laugh and talk about or new students, who has which troublemakers, what to look out for, etcetera.

Tonight the drive there is short, the music is nice, and the company is-

"Taylor! Get your butt over here!"

I laugh as Natasha calls me over and jog over and plop into a barstool, ordering a light beer and an order of fries. Natasha, Thor, and Steve are already sitting and munching on an order of chili cheese fries and Steve is talking with his hands as he describes the restart of his art classes.

"-and I'm already washing the smell of pee out of the mats! On the first day!" Natasha exclaims as she and Steve argue about whose day was harder.

"Yeah?" Steve challenges, "Well I had to scrub paint off the walls."

"Please." Natasha snorts. "You have Barnes right next door. I'm sure your boyfriend-"

"He isn't my boyfriend!"

"-would be glad to hear you grunt and moan while you scrubbed the walls."

"And he is too your boyfriend." I interject. "You think we don't notice the lingering gazes, rosy cheeks, and awkward squirming? When will you too just suck it up and admit that you too have something between you that can be relieved it the supply closet during planning?"

"There's nothing there!" he insists, but his cheeks and neck are blushing traitors.

"Right." I say sarcastically. "And pigs are flying."

Steve glares at me before turning back to Thor. "And then, this kid asks…"

I tune them out as Natasha and I enter a separate discussion on my newest batch. "-and then Agnes tells Flower-"

"Whose parents shouldn't really be raising kids. I mean, Flower, really?"

She nods. "I know. Anyways, Agnes starts ragging on Flower about the fact that she got tangled up in her jump rope and Agnes had managed to do five full hops. So Flower starts bawling and Agnes is laughing her little red head off, and of course Thor sees none of this, he's got Wanda's kids outside with the hula hoops. So Agnes ended up in the corner without any participation and I got Wilson to help me teach Flower how to jump."

"Did you tell Thor?"

She sighs and sips her cocktail. "I did. Do you think he paid attention?"

"No."

I take a sip of my beer and much on a fry while I consider what I'm going to do. "I'll talk to her tomorrow during reading, not so much attention."

Natasha nods enthusiastically as she steals a fry. I bat her hand away with a smile.

"So how bad is the smell of bodily fluids in the gym?"

"Well, its pee, one hundred thirty kids sweating per day, and Thor sweating. So pretty bad."

"You don't sweat?"

She looks offended, but her eyes are sparkling. "The accusations! Why would you say such a thing?"

I laugh as we clink our drinks together. "Well, it sounds like both our days were stressful."

"At least your kids don't text yet."

I spin in my seat and grin at Clint as he strolls in with my dad on his tail. I slide my dad his alcohol free Coke – he has an AA meeting on Tuesday – and steal a kiss from Clint as he hops onto his own stool.

"In all seriousness, though, I caught Susan Forney with her phone before lunch and she was texting her mom complaining about how her lunch wasn't 'pure vegan' and it was made from 'animal souls'."

"What _was_ the lunch?" my dad inquires from my other side.

"A turkey burger."

I chuckle and shake my head. "See, my kids do not have these problems. I escaped that fate by a year."

Natasha interrupts our conversation by calling a toast. "To new students, friends, family, and one hundred eighty more days."

I raise my glass and clink them against everyone else's.

To one hundred seventy nine to go.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The rest of the week passed as smooth as it could.

Tuesday was like Monday, except with two more missing lunches and an accident. By Wednesday, the novelty of the new year had worn off and my classroom bean a slow spiral into chaos. I delivered my charges to my dad's lab for specials, got in some lesson planning, assigned some reading homework, and then listened to my dad complain for two whole hours about how Erik and Agnes were 'children of a big, blonde, loud devil'. Thursday consisted of me lecturing my class about how homework actually needs to be completed at _home_, not on the morning bus ramp or in class where you think I can't see (Susan.)

Then came Friday.

Teachers have a love-hate relationship with Fridays.

Yes, we know they mean weekends, two days with no kids. And payday, half the time at least. But they also mean meetings.

_So many meetings._

The first Friday is always the worst. So, five days into the newest school year, I grinned (_read: grimaced_) as I broke up the usual playground fights, called Mrs. Odinson about Erik's policy of having 'wedgie quotas', handed the kids off to Steve, and headed back to my room for some quiet 'me' time.

I should have known Fury would text, putting me on lunch duty.

So instead of roaming the building and annoying the staff, I was stuck trying to stop food fights for a half an hour.

Eventually the bell rang and I stuffed all my kids back into their desks, quieting talk about weekends as I passed out math books and gave a range of problems to work on. I scribbled red pen over another set of papers that weren't even from my class. Fury started a peer review system between teachers of the same grade, so I had Mr. Wilson's class papers while he had mine from last night.

I finished them and closed the manila folder just as the dismissal bell rang, and I helped sort backpacks and find books before lining the kids up and steering them down to the cafeteria, where the specials teachers were handling cafeteria duty. Steve got my bikers, my dad took the car riders, Natasha grabbed the bus riders, and Thor sorted the extended day kids.

Meanwhile, I was running around like a madwoman to be on time for my first meeting of the afternoon. I tidied my room up, wiped off the board, and hit the lights, locking the door behind me. I then popped in Bruce's classroom, interrupting his table scrubbing to reclaim the book Brian borrowed on Monday. Then I was making a mad dash towards conference room three, skidding in with a minute to spare.

I sink into a chair and begin to dread the two hours. This was a meeting only for the first grade teachers, so it was literally me, Sam Wilson, Principal Fury and Assistant Principal Hill sitting at a table, discussing our new students, how they're adjusting, and how we can help each other.

"Taylor." Sam greets me with a nod, which I return politely. Sam and I aren't best friends, and – not to sound clichéd – he wasn't part of my group, but we've worked closely over the past two years, so I counted him a slight friend and respected coworker.

"Sam. How was your week?"

He shrugs. "Fine. The kids _really _miss May."

I nod with a grin. "Well, the woman is known to leave an impact."

"Like a car at a hundred miles an hour."

I nod, but our conversation is cut short by Fury and Hill entering the room, dramatic as always. Except that, with the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up a little, Fury might actually look human for once.

"Nick, Maria."

"Taylor, Sam, I hope you enjoyed your week."

Sam and I both just shrug as we trade manila folders, each receiving our own classes' work. His suggestions were good, ones I had already suspected just by watching my class.

We spend the next two hours going over our classes as a whole, students individually, IEP's, accommodations, and the fact that I got both the Redhead Terrors at the same time (screw you, Fury).

Sam has to shake me awake by the time five thirty rolls around, and then I'm up again, jogging towards conference room six for the staff meeting, or as my dad calls it, 'Fury dogging all of our steps, all of us'. Everybody has to come: pre-K, kindergarten, first through fifth grade, specials, counselors, administration, the entire faculty and staff.

The room is full, but my dad still manages to find me and drag me by the wrist back to a seat between him and Bruce.

"Good afternoon, teachers and staff. I hope you have all enjoyed your first week back and are looking forward to your first weekend. I just wanted to go over a few things and make sure everything was finalized as we enter a new school. Now, first at hand…"

I know what he's going to say; what he said last year and the year before that. Two squirrely, nameless people stand for pre-K, and report that their kids are doing fine, but – like the kindergarten teachers – they only see their kids half a day. Kindergarten has two more nameless people stand and report the same.

An elderly lady – fifty or so - named May Parker and Jenna Simmons represent first grade, saying that this year's kid's despise the prospect of an all-day school and former student don't seem to recognize the problems with marching into the middle of a lesson to complain about their new grade. I tell her it must be during their lunch and that I was sorry. Sam and I essentially repeat what we said to each other: nice kids, Odinson kids, missing May, etc.

By the time we get through all five grades, counselors warning us, and the specials teachers, the sun was halfway set. Fury wished us all a good night and school year, and we all hurried off to say goodbye to each other before leaving campus as soon as possible.

I unlocked my black mustang with STKGRL plates, leaning back in the seat as I shed my flats and massaged my sore feet, texting my dad that I'd follow him home.

I had plans for my weekend.

Not big plans, granted, they mostly involved Netflix marathons, mocking celebrities with Darcy, and lesson plans, but the point still stands.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"So how did your weekend go?"

I look up from my pile of paperwork and grin at Bruce. "Not bad. Darcy dragged me to the mall on Saturday, so I spent the day trying on dresses and talking about boys, or Darcy's lack thereof. You?"

He shrugs. "I took Betty to see that new movie and get coffee. Then we watched Star Wars reruns all weekend."

Betty Ross was Bruce's girlfriend and a biology teacher at the middle school down the road. I get to see her when she visits Bruce; she's a nice person and intelligent enough to actually carry on higher forms of conversation.

"Lucky." I pout. Bruce just laughs and pushes a Starbucks cup across the desk.

"Figured you might need this. Steve's breaking out the finger paints today, and the Odin-children are getting comfortable."

I nod as I sip my coffee. He heads out, and I slip my shoes on and head out to the bus ramp to go get my class.

We pass Sam's class on our way back, and I smirk. "Alright, boys and girls. Can we line up better than Mister Wilson's students? I bet we can." I call to my line and watch as my students immediately hush and straighten their line. I cheekily nod to Sam as we pass, and he scowls and mouths obscenities, which just makes me laugh even harder.

I wait for the cheers and high-fivers to settle down and find their seats before I start telling the class about the water cycle and what it does.

Once I finish, I assure the class that, no, the sun will not steal their swimming pools and hand out worksheets riddled with diagrams.

I float around the room, helping various students and collecting completed worksheets as needed.

I assign a page in their math books and tell them to work on a range of problems while I bury myself in marking papers and wait for the lunch bell.

Once said bell finally rings, I help a few students find their lunches and then herd them all out into the hallway.

On the way to the cafeteria, we pass Sam's class, and he has them straight backed and silent in an overly orderly fashion. He smirks with a gloating twinkle in his eyes, and I just roll my eyes and herd Emily back into line.

The lunchroom is bussing with excitement over Mister Roger's lesson plans, and I groan. I am by no means a gambling person, but if I were, I'd bet my kids will come back looking like rainbows puked on them.

I sigh and head up to the office. I need Darcy advice, and they have the good coffee.

Once I get there and grab an extra-large cup of liquid caffeine, I hitch a hip on Darcy's desk.

She glances up and grins. "How can I help you on this fine day?"

"My day is about to be a lot less fine. Have you heard Rogers' lesson plans?"

She lifts an eyebrow. "Do they involve Barnes?"

"No!" I smack her on the shoulder. "Get your head out of the gutter, woman."

"One day you will be sorry, Taylor, one day."

"Anyways. No, no Barnes. Finger paints."

She blinks at me. "You're joking."

"I wish I was."

"Why must he hate us so?"

"I do not know. But have you seen my roster?"

She thinks for a moment, then all color drains from her face. "You have Erik and Agnes Odinson."

"That I do." I grimly confirm.

"Oh _hell _to the no."

I wince. "I wish. But I have nineteen other decent kids, so I have to."

She pats my hand. "It's your funeral."

I hop off the desk and thank her before turning to head out. "Get back to work, Lewis!"

"I will when you do, Stark!"

Once I grab my kids and head back to the classroom, I send them to their reading spots and tell them to grab books and read silently (so I can sulk.)

Then the dreaded specials bell rings.

I pause in my sulking to chase a herd of giddy six and seven year olds down to the art room. Steve's eyes darken slightly when he sees my lineup, but it's quickly covered by a pearly smile as he sorts the kids.

I give him an apologetic grimace and a little wave as I slip out.

Then I head towards the nearest janitor closet for paper towels and coveralls.

**A~A~A**

"_Miss Stark, please report to room 2-143 as soon as possible. Miss Stark, to room 2-143."_

I groan and glare at the speaker above my head, but decide not to kill the messenger and trudge down to the art room.

The first thing I notice is that the glass pane on the door is multicolored and dripping with paint. I breathe deeply and grasp the handle.

Then I pull open the door and have to backpedal to avoid a sprinting rainbow _thing _that I think was once Caroline Willman.

Then another paint covered mess approaches me, and I only know that this one is Steve because it's about six foot one.

"What happened?" I have to yell over the squeals.

He just purses his lips and point toward the center of the room.

The sight following his finger isn't pretty.

Erik and Agnes have mounted a table and are flinging paint at kids who can't duck for cover fast enough. Even those that do aren't safe.

I turn back to Steve. "Call Thor and tell him to bring a whistle!"

He nods and scurries back towards his desk. I flatten myself against the wall and wait for the cavalry.

Thor bursts into the room about five minutes later, and I immediately snatch the whistle out of his hand. I produce one long, sharp note that makes everyone freeze instantly.

"All of you, quiet down and listen!" I command. "Erik, Agnes, get off that table this instant and go with your father. Everybody else, please follow me into the hallway."

I shepherd nineteen paint doused children into the hallway, leaving Technicolor footprints in our wake.

I sigh and put my hands on my hips and just state at the kids, who stare right back.

Never let it be said that my job is easy.

Or that I get paid enough.

Because I don't.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

One thing about new school years that teachers hate is that they are a bit of a waiting game. Everybody on staff and in administration knows that it's only a matter of time before the first fight, parent call, or referral. Last year's was when a teacher mouthed off to my dad, the year before that it was a massive fight after school.

This year's hasn't happened yet. And that puts everyone on edge.

The first Tuesday of September started out with me sipping the crappy coffee that they give in the teacher's longue, annoying my dad and stalling so I didn't have to go teach seven year olds about seasons.

"So who is in charge of the NFL fantasy leagues this year?" I ask from my perch on a bit of free counter space.

"Um, that weird sub, I think." my dad responds as he lugs a computer cart out of his back room.

"Wilson? Wade Wilson? Who put _him _in charge of that?" I groan miserably as I toss my paper cup in the trash.

My dad just shrugs as he starts unplugging a monitor.

I sigh and collect my bag from his desk. "Need any more help?"

"No, I think I'm good. Get to class, Miss Stark, before I have to give you a detention."

I roll my eyes as I step into the hallway. "You need the help anyways."

I ignore his unintelligible retort as I jog down the hall.

I quickly pop into Sam's classroom to drop off some papers before unlocking my own door and depositing my bag on my desk. I decorate the board with the day's events and lessons before setting one worksheet on each desk and leaving again to meet my kids at the bus ramp.

Nineteen out of twenty one kids greeted me warmly and peacefully, with big innocent smiles, and were met with a warm smile and kind words.

Two redheads, on the other hand, said nothing to me, completely caught up in whispered conversation among themselves. I greet them evenly, mental noting to keep an eye on the two of them and warn the music instructor to watch her instruments.

I lead them all back into the room, standing back as everyone sits and looks curiously at the sheets on their desks.

"Who knows what seasons are?" I throw the question out with that level of vigor and cheerfulness that only teachers can muster. The kids all look at one another before Annie Minks raises her hand tentatively.

"Like the stuff my daddy puts on meat?"

I shake my head. "No, Annie, but good guess. Seasons, like fall, winter, spring and summer. Now, with the weather outside changing like it is, who can tell me…"

**A~A~A**

Specials comes after a long talk about seasons, what each looks like, and what the students like about each season. I get everybody to write a paragraph on what happens during autumn before lunch; after lunch I let them draw leaves and other fall-related items and staple their drawings to the back of their reports and remind myself to hang them later.

I make sure the Odinsons are situated at the back of the line on the way to specials, where I can keep an eye on them. I warn the music teacher (The Newbie, joined last December) about the two troublemakers and ask her to call me, should anything come up, before heading back into the main building and setting course for the library.

"Phil!" I sing as I lean my elbows on the gigantic library desk.

"Taylor." he greets as he looks up from the box of books that previously had is attention. "What brings you to my kingdom of books and reading?"

I give him a strange look, the one I usually save for my dad's engineering disasters.

"What? It works on students."

"Yeah, save that for people that have not been teenagers yet, Phil."

"Noted. But seriously, what are you doing here?"

"Way to make me feel welcome." I snort as I drag a chair away from one of the tables. "It's just, the Odinsons are acting a little devious today, and I'm worried. They have music, and that poor teacher is still so new, I mean she's _the_ Newbie, and the first explosion hasn't happened yet, and-"

"Taylor." Phil cuts me off as he comes around his desk, grabbing the chair next to me and sitting in it backwards. "It will be okay. The music teacher will be fine, she'll learn by experience-"

"Yeah, I don't want _experience _to mean 'a huge fight breaks out on her watch and she panics'."

"-and if the big explosion does happen with your kids, you have an entire staff backing you and ready to help with whatever is necessary." Phil reassures me, ignoring my interruption completely. "But if it'll make you feel better, you can hide out here until the bell rings again, after school too. Want me to call Clint or Tony down?" he asks as he gets back up, popping his spine and knees as he goes back to sorting books.

I shake my head. "No, don't bother them. I'm fine."

Phil just snorts and gives me that look teachers give kids when we don't believe a word they say.

I busy myself with compartmentalizing my thoughts and watching Phil buzz around the room. It's quite entertaining, actually.

"_Will all available personnel please report to the second floor hallway by the bathrooms? We have a major situation happening, I repeat; a major situation."_

I shoot out of my chair and share a worried glance with Phil as we both sprint out of the room and towards the stairs. Darcy has a worried, anxious edge to her voice that I've never heard unless she's talking about boys. And she isn't talking about boys.

The scene of the crime, if you will, is a huge disaster. Screams and hisses echo off the cinder block walls, a crowd of whispering students crowded around a writhing mass of limbs.

A fight. I knew it.

The students make a pathway as they see me coming, and I make it to the center in no time. A flash of red hair confirms another suspicion of mine; the Odinsons were up to something.

I help one of the security guards in trying to grab one of the kids as Steve – his big, imposing self – disperses the crowd.

The security finally overpowers the kid – one of Clint's I don't recognize – while I finally recognize Erik and dive into the middle of the action.

I grunt as someone's foot connects with my right kidney/hip area, and I immediately back out. I _do _have some self-preservation left.

I wince and place a hand over my hip as I lean against the wall and watch as Clint drags the other student – another one of his – away from Erik and Agnes, who are being held back by Sam and Natasha.

"Enough!"

I swivel my head to see Fury and Hill, both looking spitting mad, storm out of the stairwell, followed by a worried Darcy.

"Enough." Fury reiterates. "Everybody go back to class. Odinsons, stay with Mister Wilson and Miss Romanoff. Natasha, Sam, my office, ASAP. Lincher, Rictenson, go with Mister Barton to get cleaned up. Everybody mainly involved had better be in my office in half an hour."

He storms back out, Darcy and Maria still on his heels. I wince and push off the wall, leaning heavily on my left foot to minimize the pain that's blossoming in my right side as I start to limp towards the elevator. I can feel several concerned gazes on my back, I just choose to ignore them.

It takes me about twenty minutes to hobble my way down to the office, entering Fury's office with five minutes to spare.

I let out a shaky breath as I lean back heavily against another wall, doing my best to ignore my sore side.

Erik, Agnes, and Clint's two kids are all sitting in chairs in front of Fury's desk, the two groups of kids separated by a fuming Maria Hill. Clint is glaring at the Odinsons, standing behind his two kids with his arms crossed and his posture screaming defense.

"Would anyone like to explain what that little scene was?" Fury asks in a tight voice.

One of Clint's boys raises his hand meekly. "I can try, sir."

"Name?"

"Mark Lincher. I'm in Mr. Barton's class. Chase," he gestures towards the other boy, "and I were walking to the library to get some research done on a project we were working on for homework, and we see these two little kids wandering the halls."

"These two?" Fury asks, waving a hand towards the sulking Odinsons.

Mark nods. "Yes, sir. We walked up to the kids, wondering if they were lost and if we could help them find something. We were just trying to help." he trails off.

"Go on, Mark." Clint softly encourages him.

Mark glances at his teacher before continuing. "So I asked the boy what they were doing out in the halls. He said that it was none of my business."

"Really meanly." Chase adds.

"I told him that I was sorry, and that I just wanted to see if they needed help. He said…he said that _I _was the one who needed help, and said that I must've gotten that from my parents. He asked if my mom was a nosy know-it-all too. The girl said she probably was."

Everybody in the room stiffens, and I wince. If there's one thing I've learned during my school and teaching career, it's this: if you want to rile a boy of any age, all you have to do is insult his mother.

"I couldn't help it." Mark continues. "Chase was trying to stop me, and I just…I couldn't…I just snapped, I'm sorry." he apologizes softly as he studies his shoes.

Fury's face softens. "It's okay, boys. Miss Hill, will you please escort Mister Lincher and Mister Rictenson out to Miss Lewis' desk? They can wait there while I speak to Mister and Miss Odinson."

Maria, Mark, and Chase all nod and leave the room. Fury stiffens and turns towards my two redheads.

"Do you two have any idea how much trouble you are in? I will be calling your mother and having a meeting with both your parents. You two are in a lot of trouble for being out of class without an adult, attacking another student, and physically harming a teacher." He glances over at me, and I grimace and duck my head. "You two will go with Mister Stark and you will wait quietly in the library until your mother gets here to pick you up. Do you understand?"

They both nod, and my dad marches them out of the room. Fury then turns to me with concern in his eyes. "Stark, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I lie as I wince. "God, kids' size fives do some serious damage."

Fury studies me for a moment before snorting. "Yeah, fine, sure you are. Barton, take her to the nurses station, I need to go talk to Lincher and Rictenson." he calls over his shoulder as he leaves the office.

Clint just walks up to me and scoops me up into a bridal-style hold, ignoring all verbal protests and marching out the back way, as to avoid looks from students.

We eventually make it to the clinic, and Clint sets me on a too-short cot before explaining the situation the nurse.

"Hey." he says, walking back over to me. "I'm going to go calm my bunch of monkeys down. I'll also tell your dad what happened, but don't be surprised if he's already heard and comes racing down here like a cheetah on a sugar high."

I nod. "Thanks. Tell everyone I'm okay, I don't want them worrying. And can you please find a sub for my kids? Not Wilson, anyone else. The poor music teacher's been holding them all this time."

He nods and leans down to press a quick kiss to my temple before nodding to the nurse and exiting the room.

I accept the paper towel-wrapped baggie of ice that the nurse hands me, turning onto my side and resting it against my hip.

I flop my head against the pillow and groan – not out of pain, but disbelief.

My day started out normally enough. Now I was laid up in the clinic with a bruise the size and shape of a seven year olds' shoe forming on my hip/kidney.

And it wasn't even two o'clock yet.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I returned to work the next Monday with only a slight limp and an epic battle story to show for my troubles. Two days leave was the mandatory for any injury of any kind, so I took Wednesday and Thursday off, and Fury told me to take Friday off since coming to work for one day would do no good for anyone.

My desk greeted me early Monday morning piled high with get well cards from nineteen of my students and almost the entire staff, even those that dropped by the house with food and well wishes over my break. As it turned out, Wade Wilson _had _filled in for me, and now I had to wash crayon and marker off my desks.

"Knock, knock."

I glance up from a particularly difficult blue line to see Assistant Principal Hill (aka the Human Principal) leaning against my doorframe, manila folder in hand. "What can I do for you, Hill?"

"Maria, please, Taylor. And you can take a look at this." She sets the folder down on my desk. I wipe my hands on a paper towel and walk over, leaning back against one the desks in the first row as I pick up the folder and open the cover.

**NOTICE: PARENT TEACHER CONFERENCE**

_Date: Monday, October 7__th_

_Time: 5:00pm_

_Purpose: Meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Odinson about the altercation on Tuesday the 1__st__. _

_Attendees: _

_Mr. and Mrs. Odinson_

_Erik and Agnes Odinson_

_Mr. and Mrs. Lincher_

_Mark Lincher_

_Mrs. Rictenson_

_Chase Rictenson_

_Principal Nick Fury_

_Assistant Principal Maria Hill_

_Mr. Clint Barton_

_Ms. Taylor Stark_

"Really?" I drawl, glancing up at Maria, who is leaning up against one of the desks.

"Yeah."

"Why do I have to go?" I whine.

"Because," she sighs, using the tone she uses to explain things to students, "you were directly involved."

"Directly involved." I huff under my breath, "More like my hip was directly involved. I have the bruises to prove it."

"Fury is livid because you were hurt while you were doing your job. Please just show up."

"Fine." I groan. "You owe me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to resume scrubbing the effects of Wade Wilson off my tables."

She snickers but nods, backing out of the classroom.

I turn back to the desks.

I am _never _putting Cline in charge of choosing my substitutes again.

**A~A~A**

"It's already 4:55, where is everyone?" I ask impatiently as I fiddle with the hem of my pencil skirt.

"Calm down, Taylor, not everyone has impeccable timing." Clint sighs as he adjusts the knot of his tie.

"I have so many more things I could be doing-"

"Ah, hello, Thor, Mrs. Odinson!" Maria cuts me off with a glare as she stands to shake hands with Thor and his wife, Dr. Jane Foster-Odinson. "My name is Assistant Principal Maria Hill, this is Principal Nick Fury, Mr. Clint Barton, and your children's teacher, Ms. Taylor Stark."

I smile and shake her hand, nodding warmly at Thor. "Nice to meet you, Doctor."

"Please, call me Jane, Miss Stark. I am so sorry for what happened. I trust you weren't hurt too badly?"

"Nothing bed rest, ice packs, and a few days of medical leave couldn't fix."

She nods and then turns to the little boy and girl hiding behind Thor. "Erik, Agnes, come on, let's sit and wait for the meeting to start." She and Thor nudge them towards seats on one side of the conference table, complete with whining about the waiting.

I turn to Fury. "How long are we going to wait for the Linchers and the Rictensons?"

"No need." he says as he nods at something behind me.

I turn to face a woman and a man jogging in with Mark Lincher between them, and a woman following with Chase Rictenson.

I quietly take my seat next to Thor and let Clint handle his introductions. He shook hands with everyone, although I could see his smile dim a little as he reached Mrs. Rictenson. _Huh_.

He leads them all to a seat and Fury passes out the reports and pens.

"Welcome, everyone, thank you all so much for meeting with us this evening." Fury begins as soon as we all have our papers. "Now, as you all probably know, this meeting was called to discuss a physical confrontation on last Tuesday, the first. Any and all questions regarding the particular matter will be answered at the end. The fight consisted of Erik and Agnes Odinson, second graders under Ms. Stark, and Chase Rictenson and Mark Lincher, fifth graders under Mr. Barton. Is that clear?"

Everyone nods, so he continues.

"According to reports, Lincher was provoked by the Odinsons, and Rictenson was trying to hold him back and prevent any serious harm to the younger children. Does anyone dispute this claim?"

Everyone shakes their head, but my eyes do catch Mrs. Rictenson throwing puppy eyes at Clint.

"Once teachers heard or were alerted to the altercation, they immediately tried to separate the students and calm the high tension between the three. Mr. Barton attempted to separate Lincher and Rictenson from the Odinsons while Ms. Stark tried to calm the Odinsons. While trying to separate her students, Ms. Stark was injured and forced into a three day medical leave. Consequences will include-"

"Why is this necessary?" Mrs. Rictenson suddenly demands.

"Mrs. Rictenson, if you will please-"

"No!" she shrieks, slamming her manicured hand onto the table. "This is outrageous! None of this is necessary! My son should not be facing any consequences! He has done no wrong. My Chasey should not be here, and those…those…hooligans should be expelled!" she shrieks, pointing a sharp-nailed finger at Erik and Agnes, who are currently cowering wide eyed behind a stiff Jane and Thor.

I start to stand to defend my students, but Clint beats me to it. "Mrs. Rictenson, this school will not tolerate any abuse towards students, whether it be verbal or otherwise. If you will please take your seat and let the correct people decide what the consequences will be, we can carry on with the meeting."

"No, the meeting will not continue!" she spits.

"Mom, please. Just sit down." Chase begs from behind her, tugging gently on her arm.

She doesn't listen to him. "I have much more valuable things to do with my time. Like, for instance, get a one on one meeting with Mr. Barton here." she purrs, scanning Clint up and down.

_Oh hell to the no, you did not just do what I _think _you just did._

I start to stand, but Maria catches my wrist and holds it against the arm of the chair, effectively pinning me to my seat.

Fury stands instead. "Mrs. Rictenson," he bites out, "_sit_ _down_. The proper authorities decide who is at fault here, not you. Meanwhile, I have a teacher with a bruise four inches wide, and you are trying to…shall we say…_bribe_ on of our other teachers. A teacher, who I might add, is already romantically involved. Now, back to the matter at hand."

"You are lucky," Maria says, picking up the ball again, "Thor, Mrs. Odinson, that Ms. Stark is one of our younger teachers. Had it been May Parker, the kindergarten teacher and an elderly woman, she would have broken a limb and we could sue on charges of battery. As it stands, Erik and Agnes will be receiving a three day suspension and a mark on their records. Any questions?"

They both shake their heads. "Thank you." Jane adds. "We know how bad this could have gotten. Erik and Agnes have been sternly spoken to and we will make sure this never happens again."

Maria nods and then turns towards Mark and Chase. "As for you, boys, you will both receive a detention, to be served this Wednesday, and note on your files. No matter who instigated the fight, you two were still involved. Understood?"

Mark and his parents both nod in acceptance, but Chase sighs miserably as his mom stands again. "Outrageous! I swear, I will sue, just watch! I will sue this school for all it is worth. Come along, Chase, we are going home."

Chase scrambles for his bag, sending the rest of us apologetic looks over his shoulder as he's marched out.

I sigh as I turn back to the Linchers and the Odinsons.

Maria clears her throat. "Well, that was just about it." she summarizes. "I would like to thank you all for coming, again, and I wish you a good evening."

Goodbyes and thank you's are exchanged as everyone gathers their coats and kids are organized. Thor tells Fury, Maria, Clint, and I that he will see us tomorrow as everyone is shuffled out.

Then all is quiet.

I sag back in my chair with a groan and a wince.

"Well, that could have gone better." Clint muses softly.

Nick, Maria, and I never give a verbal response.

We all just glare at him.


	7. Chapter 7

"So who did you pick?" I wonder aloud in the silent living room as we wait for everyone to arrive.

"I'm going with the 49ers." my dad replies as he fixes the various chips and dips set on the dining room table. "You?"

"If we're picking teams based on favorite colors, Baltimore Ravens." I reply as gesture towards my purple and black jersey and get up to re-check the amount of burgers and hot dogs.

It was time for the annual fantasy football kickoff, and this year the party was held at the Stark household. All the crew was coming; Clint, Bucky, Steve, Natasha, Thor (if he wasn't needed at home – he probably was), Bruce, and Darcy tagging along because she was bored and we had food. Bruce was bringing Betty whom I could chat science with.

We had stocked up on a massive amount of food: five party size bags of chips, seven jars of dip, eight packs of hot dogs, four packages of hamburger meat, too many buns to count, and a grill. Well, technically we didn't buy the grill; we had it, we just had to learn how to use it.

A ring sounding throughout the house causes us to both look up. "You go get the door." my dad waves me off without looking up from the food arrangements.

I just shrug and smirk. "IT'S OOPPEENN!"

My dad stares at me. I just shrug again.

He mumbles something about lazy butts and wanders into the kitchen as the group begins to file in, each wearing a different jersey or t-shirt depicting a team.

They each set their dish or bowl on the table and greetings are exchanged. Clint brought a macaroni salad, Natasha brought condiments, Bucky and Steve each brought a foam football and other fan garments (coincidence? No.), and Coulson brought a salad in hopes of getting us all to eat a little healthier.

"Ravens, Taylor?" Clint asks from where he is sprawled on the couch.

"But the colors, Clint. Don't judge my team." I playfully scold as I lean across the back of the couch next to him, poking his Iowa Hawkeyes shirt.

He laughs and bats my hand away before pecking me on the cheek. "No PDA, you two!" Bucky calls from across the room in his Green Bay Packers jersey.

"We'll stop as soon as you and Steve start!" I call back, watching as Steve blushes as red as the red in his Patriots shirt.

"The game should be starting soon." Natasha comments nonchalantly as she strolls gracefully into the room, simply wearing a t-shirt from her college. I laugh and secure my spot next to Clint on the couch as everyone else scrambles for floor space, couch space, or a chair.

We all settle into the annual routine of camaraderie, popcorn wars, and play by play commentary.

"No! No, you could have made that pass, dammit!"

"Why did you do that? It was right there."

"Yes! Touchdown! Oh yeah, ah huh…"

"Where was the quarterback on that? One job, I tell you, he has _one job…_"

"Ooh, that's going to hurt in the morning."

"If he has any brain cells left to feel pain."

I proceeded to smack Clint over the head with a popcorn bowl for that one.

"Sorry. But seriously…"

I roll my eyes and toss some popcorn in his mouth, which he catches with impeccable accuracy.

"Do we have someone manning the grill?" I ask my dad around a mouthful of popcorn.

He sets his can of Sprite down with a nod. "Bruce is the grill master for today because I don't trust any of the other not to blow something up." He finishes with pointed glances towards Clint, Bucky, and Steve. "Betty is out there for brains and moral support."

I nod, pushing my popcorn bowl towards Clint. "I'm going to go out there and visit. I haven't seen Betty in a while, and I need to complain about two of my kids." I explain as I turn and vault over the back of the couch so as to not cross in front of the screen, immediately heading for the sliding door to the backyard.

"Taylor, hi!" Betty calls from over on her chaise longue. "Come sit."

I give her a quick hug as I plop down next to her. "So has he blown anything up yet?"

"No," she muses as we watch Bruce fiddle with the dials and buttons of the grill, mumbling under his breath, "but I would not put money on that fact."

"I don't put money on anything with this crowd. They'll either find a loophole, a catch, or just plain worm their way out of the money."

Betty studies me for a moment. "You sound like you are talking about mob bosses or lawyers, not elementary school teachers."

I shrug. "Speaking of teachers, how are your hellions doing?"

"Not bad." She shrugs. "Although, I have to admit, the newer batches from here are rising higher than the ones from elsewhere." She admits with a chuckle.

"Had any chemistry lab explosions yet?"

"One. Kind of. It was sort of in that blurry grey area between mishap and meltdown."

"I hate grey areas."

"Ditto."

"Oh, so speaking of meltdowns and explosions, I heard about that fight a few weeks ago. You okay?"

"Meh." I shrug. "I was on the receiving end of worse as the VP for my dad's company, during that mess. But what really got me were the parents."

"Bad?" she asks sympathetically.

"Worse." I agree with a nod. "Well, not _parents _so much as Ms. Rictenson."

"Did someone say Rictenson?"

Betty and I snap our heads up to see Natasha jog out of the house and slide onto a lawn chair next to me. "As in Chase's hag of a mother?"

"The one and only." I nod, turning to Betty. "Chase Rictenson, one of Clint's. You may or may not have him next year."

"Nice kid, horrible parent." Natasha adds.

"Wow." Betty laughs with a little bit of awe twinging her voice. "You two never speak this bad about a parent. _Ever._ What the hell did she do?"

I sigh. "A lot. She's one of those that believes their baby can do absolutely no wrong and holds no blame for anything. She demanded-"

"Oh." Natasha winces. "Fury hates that."

"You're telling me." I snort. "So she demands to know why 'her Chasey' is being held accountable and called the Odinson kids hooligans."

Natasha's eyes darken. "Not saying that's not true, but if there is _one_ _way_ to get to a teacher…"

"…it's insulting one of their kids." Betty agrees, her voice sure and firm. "So go on."

"So poor Chase is now begging her to sit down and be quiet, he doesn't want a spectacle and he's willing to accept his punishment. She doesn't listen, and her next step into shark infested waters is to _purr _and flirt with Clint."

The reaction would have been quite amusing, if we weren't talking about people trying to take what was mine.

Betty freezes and blinks at me with murder, rage, and fire in her eyes, and Natasha looks like she wants to bring back some of her old KGB skills and polish them on this woman.

"You do know that we can't do anything you're thinking of and keep our jobs?" I ask them rhetorically and sigh wearily.

Their faces soften as Betty lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "We know. That does not mean we can't fantasize about it."

I smile at her just as Bruce announces that the food is ready and we all converge in the living room again and either grab a hamburger or hot dog. Buns are distributed, condiments dispensed, and my dad and I argue the virtues of eighties rock.

Teachers having lives: exhibit A.

No, we do _not _sleep at school.

(Except for that one time.)


	8. Chapter 8

"My arm piece won't stay in place!"

"That's nice, C-3PO, but I still don't know what to wear." I deadpan without looking back at my dad – who, from the sounds of things, was really hating his costume.

It was October 30th, the Friday before Halloween. Teachers and students alike were allowed to dress up in costumes, so long as it wasn't too violent, rated PG, and included no weapons. This was tradition.

And I couldn't find anything to wear.

My dad was going as C-3PO, and that's all I knew because the rest of the crew always kept their getups a surprise until I got to school.

"I would just go with something generic." my dad suggests. "Something everybody knows."

"Well I was going to be Katniss, but I can't bring a bow." I sigh. "All of my ideas are either obscure or dangerous."

"For Pete's sake, Taylor, just go as…Tinker Bell or something, jeez!" my dad sighs, throwing his arms up dramatically and reversing all progression his arm piece.

"Okay." I shrug and start digging through the pile in front of me for a green dress.

"What?"

"Tinker Bell's a good idea."

"I was joking."

"I'm not. Do you know where I can get a pair of wings?"

**A~A~A**

I slam the door of my dad's convertible and straighten my wireframe wings and puffy green skirt as he locks it behind us, handing me my bag as we quickly make our way into the building.

"Any last minute guesses on costumes?" I glance at him without breaking stride.

My dad hums. "Coulson is most likely a book or movie fantasy character, Darcy is something weird and outlandish, Bruce is probably a scientist or intellectual of some sort, Thor is an athlete, Clint's costume is probably freakishly related to yours again, Steve is probably going all throwback again, Bucky is unintentionally matching him."

"And Natasha is the wild card. So just like every other year."

"Pretty much." he agrees as he holds open the door for me. "You have ten minutes to get to class."

"See you at lunch!" I call over my shoulder as I jog to the best of my abilities in flats.

"Don't forget that lunch is in a conference room again!"

"I won't!" I call back, "Unlike you!", as I head down the hall and reach my door just in time.

"Good day, madam." I spin around at the choppy British accent, fumbling my keys in the process.

"Oh, hey Sam." I grin breathlessly, trying to quell the shock at his unannounced arrival. "And you are…?"

"Um," he taps his chin thoughtfully, "a generic English gentlemen, I think." He reaches up to adjust his monocle. "Penny for your thoughts?"

I raise an eyebrow as I study the dress shoes, coattails, crisp shirt, and bowtie. "A for effort, I suppose. And originality."

Sam just mirrors my eyebrow. "Tinker Bell?"

"My dad's idea." I mutter with a shrug. "Sort of."

"And it hasn't exploded yet?" Sam scoffs incredulously.

I shake my head. "Not yet. He didn't make it," I explain, "I did. Now, to class with thee!" I mock his earlier tone as I turn back to my own door and insert the key.

I just barely make it to my desk and deposit my bag before the bell echoes through the classroom and I'm forced back out into the hallways to gather my charges.

A quick assessment of my twenty-one charges reveals five of Elsa, three ballerinas, four fairy princesses, three cowboys, one policeman, a fireman, and two furry monsters.

Plus one gothic redhead and her brother, the smallest Batman I have ever seen.

I lead my ragtag groups of characters back into their classroom, passing out orange and black paper; I've decided to grant them a break from work in order to create Halloween themed crafts, with an extra eye on the Odin children to monitor the age rating of their drawings.

Then lunch arrives and I'm collecting cards and sighing at the amount of glue matting my tables, making everyone wash up before they head down to lunch.

A friendly text from Bruce reminds me of the location of staff lunch, making me quickly change course towards the designated conference room.

I can hear the music from a few feet away; it's that type of popular music we, as responsible adults and mentors, are not allowed to listen to during class hours.

One step in the door and I am instantly greeted by a three-headed office manager and a man in goggles and a stained lab coat.

"Darcy, Bruce." I grin warmly, "Nice costumes. Traditional. Has my dad seen you yet?"

Darcy waves off towards a corner with a nod. "He has, and he's become a gloating monster." I chuckle at her mock exasperation as I sniff the punch Bruce gave me with an expert nose, searching for any signs of spiking.

"How's this year's turnout looking?" I ask, slightly muffled by the brim of the paper cup as I sip the thankfully – for everyone involved – normal punch.

"The usual." Bruce shrugs. "The crew dressed up, the kids dressed up, Fury and Maria did not dress up."

I barely have time to sigh at the normalcy of the routine before some is tapping my shoulder from behind, almost giving me a heart attack.

"Peter Pan." my face slits into a grin. "My dad was right again."

"That he was." Clint smirks. "And he is not hesitating to show it. Any idea as to why we keep doing this?"

I shake my head with a frustrated huff. "Not a clue."

Clint mirrors my huff as he straightens my headband.

"I'm gonna go visit the people," I dismiss myself, "See you later, Peter."

"Later, Tink!" he plays along, calling after me as I head for the gargantuan blonde basketball player and Frankenstein's bride.

"Thor, Natasha." I nod at each respectively. "Nice wild card, Tasha, but how the hell are you doing anything productive with that wig?"

"Magic." is the only annoyingly vague answer I receive.

I chat with Thor for a while about what player he is this year before I spot the guy in suspenders with a fedora and the guy standing next to him in 40s aviator gear.

"Steve, Bucky," I call over the music, "Are you two sure you are not dating?"

"Yes," the aviator, Bucky, sighs irritably, "we are."

"Just keep in mind that you never know what you do in your sleep. "I point out, smirking at Steve's blush, as if drift back into the crowd.

I wander aimlessly for about ten minutes, playfully scorning and shunning Nick and Maria's lack of getup, before I almost bump into one slight balding Luke Skywalker, sans lightsaber.

"Hey Phil. Did you lose your lightsaber again?"

"No." he whines. "Fury," he glares over my shoulder at the one-eyed principal, "said it could be seen as a weapon."

"Oh, poor baby." I pat his shoulder patronizingly. "You gonna go whine to Daddy Vader?"

He wrinkles his nose at me as he shrugs my hand off. "Shush, Tinker Bell."

I smirk as I shrug, causing my wings to almost flutter up and down. "Whatever. Now, I've got to go plan lessons for a bunch of Elsas, ballerinas, cowboys, and monsters, so be sure to keep the three headed creature away from any drinks that got smuggled in and cut C-3PO off at the usual limit of dirty jokes. Usual procedure, you know the drill." I shrug and turn towards the door, but I can't resist one last parting jab.

"May the Force be with you, young Skywalker."

"Shut up before I get Peter Pan to steal your pixie dust."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Hiya Darcy."

There's a thud, then Darcy pops out from under her desk, rubbing her head and straightening her glasses. "What? Oh, hey Taylor. Need something?"

I shake my head. "Given that the final bell rang," I glance at my watch, "seven minutes ago, no."

"Okay then." She plops down into her chair and steals a second chair for me. "What's up?"

"Got any plans for Thanksgiving break?"

"Let's see…" she sighs. "Shouting matches with my mom over my current lack of a boyfriend, listening to Civil War myths from my dad, and watching funny cat videos and eating frozen meals. Why?"

I use a foot to spin the chair around. "Clint's taking me down to Iowa to do a 'visit the family' type gig."

"Oh. You know, I would think you would see them more often. You've been dating for, what, two years now?"

"Two in June." I nod. "But they don't like leaving their cozy little farm and braving the big city."

"Farmers, huh?" Darcy frowns. "And we aren't even in the heart of the city."

I shrug. "Still too big, apparently."

Her frown deepens and she tilts her head. "Why do you sound less than enthused about this?"

I sigh and sit up a little straighter. "I'm not." I sigh. "I mean, I don't mind Clint's family, I really don't…in small doses, anyways. His parents don't hate me, his cousins are decent people, and his nephews and nieces adore me. But put them all together, like you do for Thanksgiving, it's a disaster. His aunts and uncles think I'm too young, his cousins think I'm a rich kid city slicker that's turning her nose up at everything, and the kids have free reign and scream at very high decibels."

Darcy blinks at me. "You sound a little over dramatic, don't you think? And if it is that bad, why don't you tell Clint and bail?"

I sigh again – there seems to be a lot of that going on in this conversation. "I can't do that, Darcy. Clint can't know. I'm just trying to be a good girlfriend here, because if he shows up on Wednesday without me, they'll think even worse of me and our relationship will go nowhere without their support."

She just shakes her head. "Still think you should tell him. Now, if all you wanted to do was complain, you would've visited Phil. What do you need from me?"

"We leave Tuesday morning, so I need a sub. I swear to god, Darcy, if you let Wade Wilson step foot in my room…"

"He was perfectly good in September!"

"There is _still_ blue marker on my tables!"

"…whatever."

**A~A~A**

Clint's POV

I glance at my girlfriend, who is dragging her feet and seeming just generally more subdued than normal. "Taylor, you okay?"

I can hear the slight gasp as she jumps. "What? Yeah, fine, just thinking."

"If you say so." I say doubtfully, keeping an eye on her until we get to the door.

I crouch and catch the oncoming hoard of baby cousins, all of them squealing some variation of "Unca Cwint!" while Taylor sidesteps and nabs the dog's collar before the little furry rat can escape out the door.

I eventually pry all the little grubby fingers off me, handing them over to Aunt Beth as I stand and begin re-doing introductions from the last time Taylor and my family were in the same house, over a year ago. "Aunt Beth, you remember Taylor, right? My girlfriend?"

She stares at Taylor for a moment before recognition lights her face. "Ah yes, the one from the big city with the money. Hello there, sweetheart."

Taylor grins, and something about the grin seems off, but I ignore it. "Hello, it's nice to see you again."

"You as well, my dear, and you as well. Now, the rest of the girls are in the kitchen starting on the prep work for tomorrow, why don't you go join them?"

Taylor gives an almost imperceptible wince. "Eh, I think I'll go greet people in the living room first, if you don't mind. I'm sure I'll end up in the kitchen anyways."

Aunt Beth frowns but doesn't say anything as we're ushered out of the foyer and into the living room, where we're greeted by the blasting sounds of a pre-Thanksgiving Day-game thing on TV and a bunch of manly yells.

I do introductions, and Taylor's greeted by – grunted at, really – by my uncles and father, but on the plus side my brothers do actually greet her with words and small grins.

I am practically wrestled onto the couch, have a beer shoved at me, but I do eventually fall into the familiar atmosphere of yelling at plays, ragging on the opposing team, and both ducking and giving headlocks. I'm happy in New York, but I do occasionally miss the free flowing spirit, conversation, and beer Iowa gives.

I will admit I sort of lost my girlfriend, but I just assumed she did actually make it in to the kitchen, or she got stuck with watching the 'ten and below' kids.

"Hey Clint?"

I turn to see my one of sister-in-laws, Rachel, watching me from in front of the swinging door that leads to the kitchen. "Rachel, what's up?"

She frowns. "Not much. You see your girlfriend lately? She's acting squirrelier than usual."

"Lately, as in when? And she's not squirrely."

"You have to admit, she is. Just a little bit. And lately as in the last half hour or so."

I nod. "I'll go look for her. When did you see her last?"

"Last I saw, she was ducking out of the kitchen and heading towards the back of the house."

"Alright, thanks."

She walks back into the kitchen and I find a way to leave the room under the guise of visiting nieces and nephews or something before making a beeline towards the back of the house.

I eventually track Taylor down to the back porch, where she's sitting on the steps, clinking the ice in her half-full lemonade glass around absently, her shoulders hunched as she watches two of the hound dogs romp in the yard.

"Hiding, are we?"

Her head snaps up at my voice, not unlike a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but she doesn't turn around as she replies. "What? Psh, no, 'course not, I'm watching the dogs, um…"

"Ace and Bailey?"

"Right, watching Ace and Bailey play. Not hiding."

I sigh and join her on the steps, letting the screen door slam behind me. "One of my sister –in-laws just old me you were acting squirrelier than normal, and now I find you out here all alone. It sounds like you're hiding. From my family. Why?"

She stays silent. I don't push it, I just study her until she sighs and answers.

"I don't need _your _family to be _my _family."

"What?"

"I've played this game before, Clint."

"What? What _game_?"

"The 'you don't have anyone, so here's a replacement family' game. I'm perfectly fine with being the only child of a single father, okay? I don't need a _replacement_. I don't need nor want their pity, Clint, I'm perfectly happy where I am."

"What are you talking about? I'm not trying to replace anything, or anyone for that matter. I know you're happy…or at least you _were_, before we came out here. Dare I ask what triggered this?"

She sighs heavily and sets her glass down between her feet, still not looking at me. "Your mom asked when we were going to get married."

I blink at her for a moment before mirroring her sigh. "You know you can just straight up tell her to wait, right?"

"No, I can't."

"And why not?"

"The rest of your family. They already frown upon me, with those big wrinkly, 'disappointed in you' frowns, and I don't _want _to disappoint them, okay, because if we are going to get married one day that would mean I would have to feel them being disappointed for my _entire life. _Plus, disappointing people in general usually isn't my thing."

I stare at her before grabbing her hand and drawing her flush to my side. "You don't disappoint them."

"You're right. Instead, they hate me."

"They do not."

"They think I'm a snobby, rich city slicker who doesn't get her hands dirty."

"Want me to show them that picture of you working on my car?"

"Be my guest, it probably won't sway them at all."

I sigh and lean away to look her in the eyes, keeping our hands intertwined. "My entire family does not hate you, Taylor. You might not be just what the older half expected when I first brought you home, but the younger side adores you. My brothers think you're a good influence, their wives think you're a genius, and my nieces and nephews are already calling you Aunt 'Taywor', mainly behind your back. My teenage cousins think you're amazing, by the way, they're a little jealous."

"Okay, so half don't hate me. But back to the object of marriage…"

"Okay then. First of all, your dad has to want us to get married too. He's not going to let my parents force our hands. Second, why did you panic?"

"Okay, let me ask some questions now. How many brothers do you have?"

"Four, five including me."

"And how many are married by now?"

"Three."

"And I talked to Brian, he said he's happy being single, but he's facing the same pressure you are. I don't want to be the one to turn you into the failure son."

I look between her and the house and back again. "Do you want me to go chew my mother out for this?"

"What? No, Clint, don't you dare. I refuse to create a hole in your family over this."

"But it's upsetting you-"

"And thank you for caring, but I can nod, smile, and agree just as good as the next girl. I can last this vacation, at least."

"If you're sure…"

"I am. And if I get another chance to talk to your mom, I'll tell the truth. But for now I can settle with being content with the family members that don't scorn me."

I shrug. "If you say so. Now, my dad's a car guy, you still want me to show that picture?"

"Meh." She shrugs. "Might buy me some favor, what can it hurt?"

"Come on," I laugh, "let's go inside. I think my brothers found some baby pictures."

Her eyes light up. "Really? Let's go!"

"Will I regret saying that?"

"Will I copy the pictures and digitalize them to keep for ages?"

"So, a no then?"


	10. Chapter 10

I trudge my way into my dad's office Tuesday afternoon, still fighting slight jet lag from the flight that returned from Iowa the night before.

"Hey there." My dad pops his head out from the back supply room. "So how did meet the family go?"

I shrug as I crouch down by one of the half-assembled computers. "Pretty good, I guess. I mean, at first it was really awkward with me being the only city slicker in a house full of Iowans-"

"Iowans?" my dad looks at me strangely. "Is that a real word, or is that the jet lag talking?"

"Real word." I nod. "People from Iowa. Anyways, his mom asked the usual awkward girlfriend questions, Clint and I talked about my answers to said questions, and then I got to fix his dad's car."

"Wow, really? What does he drive?"

"An old Ford pickup." We both shudder slightly. "But I cleaned out the engine, changed the oil and brake fluid, replaced a few small parts that had rusted out, and then I got a decent night's sleep in one of the guest bedrooms-"

"With him?" my dad stares at me.

"Yes," I nod exasperatedly, "with Clint. And I did say a good night's _sleep_, right?"

"Right, go on."

"The next day I ate until I was stuffed and then paid half-attention to the football game that was on. Friday I got to know his sister in-laws, cousins, the younger girls in the family, and they taught me how to cook some pork thing. Saturday Clint showed me around town, Sunday I disappeared for a while when they went to church, and that was a little awkward the rest of the day. Monday we flew back."

"Sounds good." He shrugs. "Normal. Strangely normal."

I nod. "It was slightly weird. I don't think I would ever be able to live in the country like that."

"You like the city too much."

"Anyways," I change the subject, "what did everyone else do?"

"Well," he taps a screwdriver against his chin, "I was lazy pretty much all of break, Coulson visited family in Illinois, Natasha spent a tension-filled week with her estranged father, Steve visited his mom in Brooklyn and I think Bucky and him were unintentionally in the same city, Thor did the classic dinner with family routine, and Bruce and Betty spent the day ignoring all calls from her father."

"So I'm not the only one with another incredibly awkward Thanksgiving under my belt. Good to know."

He hums, eyes glued to the computer in front of me.

I get up to leave, but stop, turning back with my eyes narrowed. "Wait, who subbed for me yesterday?"

"Um…" he looks up. "Ms. Lafayette, I think the old lady from Louisiana. Not my first choice of sub, honestly."

I give a relieved sigh. "Well, she may smell slightly swamp-ish and croak instead of speak, but she is _not _Wade Wilson, and that is a good thing."

My dad shrugs again and I begin to leave again before stopping once more, a detail and a reminder popping to the forefront of my mind. "Oh, and I'm stealing one of your computer carts."

My dad glances up momentarily. "Not that I mind so long as you eventually return it, but why?"

"I'm supposed to be meeting Clint, Darcy, and Steve in Clint's classroom in," I glance at my watch, "ten minutes for the collecting and counting of the harvest from the canned-food drive, and I refuse to actually _carry _the cans. Oh, and I need your cans."

"Sure," he shrugs, waving a tool-filled hand towards the supply room, "help yourself."

"Thanks." I grab a cart, load it with the plastic bags of can that sit in the back of the dark supply room, and maneuver it past the computers and make it out the door without stopping this time, making my way towards the elevator and Clint's classroom.

I make it there with a minute to spare; not that anyone would have truly cared about that minute anyways.

"Finally," Darcy groans by way of greeting, sitting on top of one of the student desks. "Grab a form and start counting."

"Hello to you too." I grin at her and give Clint a quick peck on the cheek before swiping one of the forms from the table, stealing a pen off his desk, and pulling the cart over to start counting the cans stacked on it.

The canned-food drive is widely supported among teachers, staff, students and parents alike, although, according to Phil, it didn't really catch momentum until around when Clint was brought on, about four years ago.

Twenty-two year old Clint, he tells me, was appalled by the condition of the school's food drives, and it took about a month and a half to get the necessary permission from Fury to revamp the annual fall food drive.

Now he and Steve are in charge of it, with the occasional teacher popping in to help. I try to help as much as possible, as does the rest of our group of colleague-friends.

"…sixty two, sixty three, sixty four...oh, there you are Steve!"

I mark down can number thirty four before looking up at Darcy's excited break in counting to see Steve standing in the doorway, paint marks still slightly visible on his hands and arms. "Hey," he pants, "sorry I'm late, I had to wait for a parent to arrive before I left the kid."

The three of us already surrounded by cans just silently nod and motion towards the forms before returning to our individual tasks.

"Fifty seven for my dad." I report, setting the pen down and getting up to quickly stretch before grabbing the cart and heading out to do more collecting.

By seven o'clock, I've collected canned good from almost the entire school.

I've visited Bucky (forty two), Sam (thirty nine), Wanda (twenty eight), Carol (seventy one), Jessica (twelve), and even braved Mrs. Miller's cranky disposition (three).

I returned to Clint's room and handed the cart off to Darcy, who would go collect from whoever I missed, before sitting back down to begin counting again.

"One, two, three…there has got to be an easier way to do this, there really does."

Clint just glances up at me, amused. "If you can find it, do tell."

"Please." Darcy and Steve add.

"I'll be sure to. Seven, eight, nine…seriously, not even one idea?"

"Nope."

"You people are hopeless."

"But you love us anyways."


	11. Chapter 11

My classroom doesn't get very quiet very often, so when it does, I cherish it.

Like this particular Wednesday, when all my kids had found their little niches and hidey-holes, curled up with books and the full intention to rack up as many Accelerated Reading points as possible.

Nobody needed my help, so I just let them be; that, and my actual teacher-colleagues and I have a betting pool and who's class gets the most points, and Bucky's class was currently in the lead with fifty-odd points. I wasn't about to lose the chance at a night of free drinks at Quigley's to Bucky, I just wasn't.

A buzz in my drawer caught my attention, and I grab my phone out before it can vibrate again.

**Bruce: **don't forget that team lead meeting after school today.

I groan quietly, so as not to disturb my students, as I reply.

**Me: **I thought sam was the 2nd lead?

**Bruce: **I just ran into him in the hall, he says that you are

**Me: **since when?

**Bruce: **um, five minutes ago?

I groan again as I begin to anticipate the work needed for the gigantic meeting that was to be held after all the kids went home.

**Me: **remind me to see Fury about this. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bunch of forms to go fill out.

**Bruce: **your kids?

**Me: **after they're done reading and winning the AR bet for me.

I slip my phone back into my desk and file away the marked spelling tests as I settle back in my chair with my desktop calendar and a pen, ready to mark down a few new parent-teacher conference dates I had ironed out recently.

And try my best to ignore the purple polka dotted elephant in the room named Meeting.

**A~A~A**

I'm a little late collecting the paperwork I need for the meeting after school; in my defense, Macy put up a decent case about all the reasons why she shouldn't have to go to extended day in lieu of escaping to Miss Danvers room.

After I got her out the door with the lie that Miss Danvers was busy – and not in the break room discussing the bets floating around the staff – I headed first down to Sam's room to complain about my sudden position as team lead.

He's on the phone, so I lean against the doorjamb and wait patiently.

"-yes, Mr. Watterson, eight a.m. on Thursday is fine. I'll see you and Bryce then. Goodbye."

"Well if it isn't Mr. Pen Your Supposed Job Onto Other People."

Sam looks up with all the sheepishness of a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. "Sorry?"

"I have a meeting in two and a half hours," I whine unashamedly, "and even more paperwork _on top of _a batch of horrible spelling tests and not a pay raise in sight."

He shrugs. "It's not that much more money."

"See?!"

He sighs, eyes falling back to his desk.

"And," I continue, "everyone expects you to be there, and I am so telling them the truth. But, just to be clear, it is my job now. My title, no backsies."

Sam looks at me strangely. "Backsies? What, are you, five?"

"Just give me that paperwork."

He hands me a stack of papers about half an inch thick, and I can't resist whacking him over the head with them as I walk out the door and towards the library to get some peace and quiet so I can work in peace.

**A~A~A**

By the time five o'clock rolls around, I have all the necessary forms filled out, my explanation for why I was even there planned out – "Sam shuffled it to me, and one of us needs to be responsible" - and a stale donut, nabbed from the break room, in my hand as I jog down the hall, using Bruce's texts as time reminders as I dash to the library.

I slip into the room before the door closes behind May, quickly approaching Fury to hand over my paperwork.

My boss raises an eyebrow as he sees me. "I thought this was Wilson's job?"

"Me too," I shrug, "before about one this afternoon, when I was told it was officially my job, title, and not-yet-pay raise."

He nods and accepts the papers. "I'll talk to Maria and Darcy about changing that in the books. Otherwise, welcome to team lead, a bunch of other mushy sentimental stuff, and there's a seat open over there."

I chuckle dryly as I follow his finger over to a seat at a table with Natasha, here for P.E., and Sharon Carter, here for Special Ed.

Natasha looks surprised as I approach. "Don't take this the wrong way, but what the hell?"

"Sam shuffled it to me, and one of us needs to be responsible." I shrug and recite the prepared response as I sit down, already scanning the room for familiar faces.

Bucky grins at me from one table over, poking Bruce in the shoulder and prompting him to do the same. He sits next to Steve, here for art, and that's as far as I look before Fury makes his way to the front of the room.

"Okay, people, settle down." A slight hush falls over the room. "We have an hour and a half before some union or another starts complaining."

"First, I would like to formally welcome Taylor Stark as the head for first grade."

"Pretty sure they all know me already." I call to Fury over the polite clapping as I forcibly grab Natasha's wrist to keep her hand off my hair.

Fury just glares at me at he continues. "Next order of business. Who's here for music?"

You can almost hear the crickets chirping in the room as we all realize Newbie has shown up yet.

"I don't think anyone is." I call up. "The Odin-children may or may not have scarred New – um…" I cut myself off before I complete the nickname, fumbling for a name.

"Grey? Jean Grey." Sharon leans over to hiss in my ear.

"Right, Grey. The may have scarred her, sorry, not my fault."

Fury sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'll look into that later. For now," he turns his attention over to May Parker, "let's start with kindergarten. How are you and Danvers doing so far?"

May shrugs, her face the picture of neutral indifference. "So far as I can tell, or as far as she's told me, her morning classes are doing fine, she's reduced the number of criers from ten to three and only four accidents in the past month. My classes are doing fine, four criers and a substantial amount of glitter lovers. I've apologized to the janitors in advance."

Fury nods and Maria, behind him, types something into her tablet as he turns to me. "And how are the Odinson kids fairing?"

"Better since the September fight. Small occurrences, really, nabbing pencils, pens, a box of paperclips…the last big problem was before Thanksgiving, when they drew all over Andrew's picture while he was in the bathroom. That almost came to blows." I pause, taking a deep breath before continuing cautiously. "I don't know if they're up to something, or what they might be up to, but them being good-"

"Or not as devilish." Natasha mutters under her breath.

"-is a little scary. Heads up everyone." I finish, subtly glancing at Natasha out of the corner of my eye.

"Thank you." Fury nods, holding up a manila folder. "Now that that's over with, these are the results from the first quarter assessment tests."

He passes the folder around, and I make grabby hands until Natasha stops teasing and hands me my packet.

I flip and scan through the pages until I reach my class, my finger jabbing into my name. "Aha! My class beat Sam's! Oh yeah, take that!"

I squirm in my chair, doing a modified victory dance, before Phil pipes up from behind me. "The kids in Sam's class are only there because their parents have heard of you."

"Oh, cold." I wince, rolling the packet to reach back and whack Phil with it.

"My class still leads Miller's." Clint announces. "Just barely."

I turn back to Fury. "How do these look compared to the district?"

"Five, but only because one through four are snobby prep schools, complete with uniform."

I nod contentedly, wrinkling my nose at the aforementioned schools.

"Now," Fury raises his voice to be heard over the flipping of pages, "I'm going to need those back, because they aren't officially out for another month or so. You never saw them if asked."

We all nod and the papers eventually get back into the folder, Fury going on to talk for another forty five minutes about upcoming events, fundraiser volunteering, why my dad and I shout _not _try and fix the old coffee maker – with counterarguments by yours truly.

He releases us, and I nudge Clint away from the cookie platters and half-drag him out of the school, settling into easy conversation as I wait for my dad to close up the lab.

"So…team lead. Welcome to a butt load of extra work and not that much more on your paycheck."

I nudge his ribs with my elbow. "And meetings with you."

He puts on a face of mock hurt. "You wound me."

"You'll be okay, you're a big boy." I see his smirk and immediately shut down the approaching innuendo. "Not like that."

"Yes I am."

I roll my eyes and nudge him towards his SUV as my dad approaches. "See you tomorrow."

He nods and quickly kisses me before jogging off just as my dad reaches the car. "Parking lot flirting, really?"

I roll my eyes again. "Just drive."

He does, and I congratulate myself on another day (sorta) well done.


	12. Chapter 12

"Ow!" I yelp as I smack my head on the underside of a desk, during the middle of one of my monthly gum scrapings. Because apparently first graders don't understand that I mean what I said when I said "no gum is allowed in my classroom."

"I'm not convinced Starks really have the brains they brag about." a voice chuckles from the direction of my door.

"You haven't seen my IQ tests!" is my automatic response, not even seeing who it was. I scoot out from under the desk and rock back onto my knees to see Ororo Munroe, one of the guidance counselors, standing in my open doorway.

"Hey Storm," I smile warmly, greeting her with the nickname bestowed upon her because of her wild grey eyes and hard to pronounce name, "what brings you to this side of the town?"

"I'm worried about one of your kids." She explains bluntly, no preamble whatsoever, not known among staff and faculty to beat around the bush when dealing with coworkers.

I stand and wipe my hands on my pants, wrinkling my brow as I let her in. She takes a student char and flips it around, crossing her arms over the back of the chair as I sink into my desk chair. "Which one?"

"Jessie Thompson."

I nod as the face comes to mind; big brown eyes, hair tied back into twin braids, a quiet but happy kid. With no obvious issues. "Explain?"

"She has a brother, Brian, in Barnes' room. Both are generally mousy and slightly submissive by nature, Brian might have ADD or ADHD and possibly dyslexia, according to Sharon's report as of last Thursday. When we tried to get a hold of the parents and bring them in to tell them this, we could only get ahold of mom, she said their dad was away on a business trip."

"Okay, and your point here…?"

"I have only met the mom once or twice, the kids normally get dropped off and/or picked up by a babysitter. When I did meet her, I could immediately tell she was a very quiet, twitchy, mousy, and almost _scared_ person, just by nature unless the school lobby is terrifying."

"So know we know where they get if from."

She gives me a muted glare. "Stop interrupting. Anyways, I have met the dad a total of one time in the four years this family has been attending this school. Dad is the polar opposite of his wife; baseball caps, cigarettes, a bushy beard, and a very loud mouth. Everyone, especially Jessie, Brian, and Mom, flinches when he starts booming. Sort of like Thor, except lacking that friendly, warm quality Thor seems to exude."

I shrug. "So he's loud. Maybe he's just Italian?"

"Taylor," Ororo sighs, "yes, he is loud, but factor this in as well: he's apparently never home and something in his kids changes whenever they see him."

"So…maybe they have some issues." I frown. "I appreciate that you care, but we can't step in unless in directly involves our students."

She raises an eyebrow. "It might. Brian came into Barnes' class about half an hour late yesterday, walked to class by Danvers, who had come in for the morning to help out in the office and attend a few meetings. Brian's hands were messily wrapped in gauze, in what looked to be a rushed fashion done by an amateur. When Bucky asked, just generally curious, what he did to his hands, he broke down and started blubbering something about broken glass and his father. Brian then proceeded to sleep for an hour and a half in the clinic before the babysitter, not mom or dad, came to pick him up."

"Okay, now this sounds a little more…nefarious…than just issues. Did anyone ever see Brian's hands?"

She shakes her head. "I tried to ask him, but that started a new round of waterworks. When the nurse tried to get at his hands, he curled into a ball and completely shut down."

I nod slowly. "So what do you think is happening?"

"I think," she sighs wearily, "that the broken glass was once a bottle, unless fathers just normally have broken glass lying around. Mine sure didn't."

"Neither does mine, unless it's a project of some sort." I stay silent about the bottles, trying not to fall too deeply into the swirling vortex of memories of drunken nights and slurred speech before he discovered AA.

"Taylor?"

I blink at the counselor seated in front of me. "Sorry, what?"

"You were staring into space for a minute there, everything okay?"

"Yeah, go on."

"Anyways, my thoughts say that the father sees his bottle more than he does his family; and when he does pop by, he's loud and disruptive and most likely drunk."

I lean back and scrub a hand over my face. "What does Bucky think?"

"Generally the same thing, he just sees more physical aggression than verbal."

"I'm going with both." I decide. "From what I've seen of his sister, those kids aren't dumb enough to pick up a broken bottle or another piece of broken glass, not willingly. I think they were forced; maybe shoved down onto it, something like that. What do we do from here?"

"Maria's working on organizing a parent teacher conference, strongly requesting both parents show up. For now we need you and Bucky to keep an eye on those two; check for scars, watch them try and talk to them."

"I can do that." I nod. "I'll talk to Jessie when she comes in tomorrow and I'll talk to Bucky when he goes on lunch in ten."

Ororo nods, thanking me for my time as she finds her way out of my classroom. I follow not that long after, immediately heading upstairs and towards Bucky's room, lunch in hand.

When I arrive I crack open his door to see him sitting, slightly slumped, at his desk, picking at a salad but not looking remotely interested in eating any of it.

"Care for some company?"

He looks up at me slowly. "Well, they do say misery enjoys company."

I nod, pursing my lips tensely as I perch and cross my legs on top of a desk in the front row.

We eat in silence for about five minutes before he looks at me again. "You have Jessie Thompson, don't you?"

"And you have Brian." I rebuke, nodding. "Ororo just talked to me; my kids are on a field trip with Sam's kids."

He rubs his face. "I hate this part of my job."

"What, the 'seeing a kid come in scarred from his own family' part? Yeah, it's abso-freaking-lutley _fantastic_. Right up there next to informing kids about other various family tragedies, which I haven't had to do yet."

Bucky tilts his head. "Really? Not once?"

I shake my head. "Not one time in two years. Anyways, if you find out when Maria schedules that conference…"

"I'll tell you." He promises. "I'm just as worried about them as you are."

"And I haven't even found evidence on Jessie yet."

He snorts. "And we all know how that goes down. Case and point: Wanda and last year's Stapler Incident."

I snort, as much of a laugh as I can do right now, as I finish my lunch and promise to keep Bucky updated as I slip out of his classroom and back down towards my own.

I won't be doing much more today than grading stuff to keep my mind from wandering to darker, deeper places.

I sigh; Buck was right, some parts of this job need a big, red, blaring 'skip' button.


	13. Chapter 13

I tilted my head to the side, stopping it just before it hit my shoulder as I listened to Martin Thompson speak – yell, really – about how he was "an honest hardworking man," and how "it wasn't his fault he was gone so much,".

I sigh and glance at Bucky as Martin takes another deep breath before launching into the newest leg of his tirade.

_God, I wish Clint was here_, I reflect as I pick at a freckle on my hand, _at least he knows sign language._

The room was occupied by Maria, Bucky, Ororo, and I, along with Amelia, the mousy mother, and Martin, the father who was most likely drunk most of the time, like probably right now (if his breath was any indication) and may or may not be an abusive douche…but no biases.

"-an' I don't need my son's teacher tellin' me how to be a father!" Martin shouts, animatedly waving his arms around.

Bucky and I share a glance with Maria and stand simultaneously, me drawing on my experience wrangling my dad after one bottle too many. "Look, Mr. Thompson, we are not trying to tell you how to be a father to your children, I swear we're not. But, as their teachers, it is part of our jobs to make sure they stay as safe and happy as possible. We try not to bring home too far into the school, in order to create an environment that will do just that. We-"

"Are you sayin' that their home isn't safe?" he roars, and I wince at the smell of scotch on his breath. "I spent money on that house n' everything' in it, that is my house, and you're saying it isn't safe?!"

I want to fire back with "Well if it's yours, how come you're never there?", but I hang onto my professionalism by a thread.

"Mr. Thompson," Bucky continues calmly, "your son came to school last week hurt and scared, and we just want to make sure nothing serious was happening and whether or not we could help. Nobody wants to tell anyone else what to do here, we just wanted to make sure Jessie, Brian, and everyone else was alright."

"Your kids are excellent people." I continue once I'm calm enough to speak. "I love having Jessie in my class, and I love hearing her stories about princesses and castles and far-off lands. I see true potential in her, and it is part of my job to help her achieve that potential. I cannot do that, however, if she shuts down, like her brother did and shuts everyone out. But I can only help her when she is within these walls. Once she reaches home, you and Amelia, as parents, need to do the same."

"Jessie," he snorts, "Always going on and on about magic and princesses…girl needs to grow up and see that the real world isn't like that…her head's gonna float away if she keeps it in the clouds."

I blink at him in shock, extremely glad Darcy was keeping the two kids busy down the hall. "She is six years old, Mr. Thompson. Your daughter is still at the age where they live in the clouds, every girl wants to be a princess, and every boy wants to be Superman. Yes, she will see the world as it is eventually, but her innocence is a precious thing; why not keep it for another few years?"

He stares at me, glassy eyes slightly dumbfounded. "Do you want her to survive? Because if she can survive on hope alone, I'll believe it when I see it. I've tried to tell her, both of them, what I'm tellin' you, but when do you stop trying?"

I glance at Bucky, and I can see my response of "Never, you idiot," reflected in his eyes.

Maria looks between the two of us, and we can all tell that between the stubborn drunk Dad and the Mom that hasn't said a peep, we aren't going to get anywhere soon, and I can see several meetings with Ororo and maybe even SpEd in my future.

Maria sends Bucky to go get the kids from Darcy, so I step back and trying to blend in with the wall as Maria wraps up the conference, request the babysitter's name and phone number (since it seemed like she care more than them).

As soon as Bucky was back with Jessie and Brian and the parents were gone, Maria quickly dismissed us both and I mumbled a hasty goodbye to Bucky before taking off like a cat with a flaming tail.

I reach my car in about a minute, hopping in and turning the key before pulling out of the staff parking lot and just driving – not ridiculously fast, nothing extreme, just fleeing.

I don't pay attention to where I'm going and I forfeit the GPS, figuring my mind will take me wherever I needed to be at the moment, although I wouldn't know until I was there.

It's not any of the predetermination, ESP type stuff, just faith in my own, finely honed, instincts.

Instincts which, apparently, pull through, because I find myself stopped in front of a familiar house in no time at all.

Clint's house.

I sigh as I turn into his driveway, parking my Corvette alongside his silver, slightly run down, Jeep.

Clint's house is nice, big enough and not extravagant. Two bedrooms, one bath, another half bathroom off the garage which is empty, save for a bicycle and a few blueprints I had forgotten.

I leave little touches here and there; random engineering magazines lying around, a few pairs of jeans and t-shirts in a drawer, a brand of cereal in the pantry, and many socks, to name a few.

I sigh as I knock on his front door, knowing where the spare key is but not wanting to use it. I allow myself a small smirk at the rushed "I'm coming!" that sounds behind the door before Clint appears, dressed in casual worn jeans and an old, threadbare t-shirt.

He takes one look at my face and turns, letting me follow him inside and face plant onto his couch while he orders the usual pizza from the one place down the street.

"People like Martin Thompson don't deserve to have kids." I mumble as soon as he gets off the phone.

"Thompson…like that one kid…um, Brian, that's going to be in fifth grade next year?"

"That one, yeah." I sigh. "His sister's one of mine, and Brian entered Bucky's class last week with bandage hands, wounds most likely inflicted by broken glass."

I can almost hear Clint's silent wince as he nudges me with his hip and I scoot over as he sits and props his feet on his coffee table.

"The dad was never there," I sigh as I curl into the natural contours of Clint's body, "And the mom was scared of her own shadow. The dad was loud and stubborn when he was there, and he probably saw a bottle more than his family."

"I hate people like that," Clint murmurs as he uses a thumb to wipe away my tears. "Idiots, all of them."

I nod mutely. "He showed up drunk." I whisper. "Martin Thompson showed up drunk with scotch on his breath."

Clint just curses under his breath and slowly diverts the subject, starting with whether or not I can do one-on-one mentoring with Jessie and ending up at debating which new Netflix release to watch.

We spent the night like that: curled into each other on the couch, inhaling pizza, and keeping the kisses short and sweet – neither of us wanted to do much more.

The end credits to the cheesy Lifetime-style movie roll around ten thirty, and I send my dad a quick text explaining that I wasn't going to be home tonight but I was fine if he had heard word on the conference before Clint and I retire to his bedroom, me quickly changing into a pair of sweat pants and an old college t-shirt of his before rolling into his arms and submitting to sleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.


	14. Chapter 14

I sigh and tilt my head the other way at my phone, as if looking at my screen a different way will make the staff-wide memo that I just got from Darcy either change or go away completely.

I glance up to make sure the kids were still working on their writing pieces about what holiday the celebrated and what they liked about that holiday before glancing back down at the phone that was hidden beneath my desk.

The email was stating, quite enthusiastically, I might add, but that was Darcy's usual M.O. – that it was Secret Santa time again and your assignment would reach you by the end of the day.

It also stated that she could in no way, shape, or form be bribed to switch the partners around, no matter how much Sam wanted the beanie babies Phil usual gave, but we all know we could by her over with chocolate covered fruit and sangria.

I sigh and add another thing to my to-do list, right under Christmas present shopping or creating and somehow finding out how I could mentor Jessie Thompson.

"Miss Stark?"

I quickly shove my phone between my knees and look up to see Alex Delano chewing his bottom lip and looking like the world was ending right then and there.

"What's the matter, Alex?"

"I don't have a holiday," he whimpers, and I can see the tears welling up in his emerald eyes, "I can't do the 'signment 'cause my mommy and daddy don't celebrate any of the holiday. They said t-that w-we do a…ei…eighty-izzzm?" he crinkles his forehead and looks at me.

I raise an eyebrow as I work my first grader to English translator. "A – the – ism, Alex? Atheism, is that what they said?"

He nods and swallows a sob.

"Okay." I get up to circle my desk and crouch in front of him. "First of all, calm down. Take a deep breath…in, out. Good, count to ten…there. A little better now?"

I wait until he shakily nods to continue. "Now, just because you don't have a holiday doesn't mean you can't do the assignment. How about, instead of writing about one holiday, you write about winter instead? You can show what you like about winter instead, things like snowmen, and snowflakes, and hot chocolate…"

I trail off as I watch Alex pick up the train of thought, his eyes suddenly dry and glowing. "Really? Thank you Miss Stark!"

I grin and give his shoulder a squeeze as he almost runs back his desk before remembering my rule about running and slows to a speed walk.

I turn back to phone as I sink back into my chair, chewing on my own lip as I read the text from Darcy that followed the email, a message containing only one thing: a name. Bucky Barnes, to be exact, which is why I was now having a hard time on what to get him, stopping short of stripping him and Steve and shoving them in the tiny closet behind Bruce's room then locking the door.

I sigh again but don't have time to mentally complain anymore because I have to get up to stop tensions from rising between Erik and Emmanuel Katz on why Santa was better than the entirety of Hanukkah.

**A~A~A**

I stroll into the office after the bell rings to find Darcy at her desk for once, grumbling at her computer about how there were no non-denominational songs out there for her to play over the PA system.

"Try Jingle Bells." I suggest as I walk up and hitch a hip onto her desk.

She blinks at me as if I had just dropped from the sky. "Of course you get that in five seconds when I've been working at it for an hour."

"Sorry," I lie with a shrug. "Perks of being a genius. And I need to talk to you about Secret Santa, got a minute?"

She squints at me. "I specifically told everyone-"

"I know you can't be bribed to switch partners. But can I bribe you to help me gift my Secret Santa?"

She just stares at me expectantly. I sigh dramatically as I set a bag of chocolate covered blueberries and a printed out recipe for blueberry sangria on her desk.

She nods so quickly I fear for her neck as she pulls the berries and recipe towards her protectively. "Now, what do you need? And I swear, if you have a threesome set up with someone, you, these berries, and that sangria are all dead to me."

I shake my head. "Not for my partner, no, although I might surprise Clint with something Christmas morning. No, I need you to get me order forms for a hell of a lot of mistletoe."

She raises her eyebrows suspiciously. "Not going to ask…and you will be doing what?"

"Definitely _not _hacking a bunch of specials schedules so Steve and Bucky are forced to follow each other around all day."

She nods as I walk out of the office, thanking me for the totally not bribes along the way.

I only get two steps away, though, before I slam into the grumbling dark rain cloud that is my dad.

"Whoa, what crawled up your pants and died?"

"My appreciation and respect for Darcy, that's what." He snaps. "What the hell do I get an old lady? A casket?!"

"I wouldn't." I warn gravely. "Remember what happened to the last person that did that." My dad and I both shudder. "So…which old lady?"

"Miller."

"Ah, yes, the actually old lady, not pseudo old lady May Parker." I nod, then ponder his original question. "Um…a knitting kit?"

"Phil did that last year."

"A crocheting set?"

"A what?"

"Crocheting set." I repeat slowly. "It's a type of knitting, and the only reason I know this is because I got trapped in a kitchen with one of Clint's great-aunts."

My dad looks thoughtful. "Might work…I'll look into it. So, who did you get? And what are you getting them?"

"Not telling on both counts. But, if it works, Bucky's closet is going to get a _lot _more use."

"Do I want to know?"

"No, no you do not."


	15. Chapter 15

"How's that foster care thing coming for the Thompsons?"

I dig a file out of my desk and hand it off to Bucky, diving into my findings. "Well, there's always the local chapter of the Boy and Girls Club, that or this Big Brother/Sister and Little Brother/Sister mentoring program."

He silently scans down the paper. "What about extended day?"

"We would have to go to Hill will evidence that they needed to stay because, say, nobody got home from work until four thirty or something like that."

He raises an eyebrow. "Does having crappy, nonexistent parents and a crappy home life count as evidence?"

I sigh. "To Maria and Fury? Yes. To their superiors, the school board, and the rest of the district? No. Not unless we can prove abuse."

"And that would mean having to see the scars on Billy's hands or signs of malnutrition, and nobody's done that yet." He sighs. "We're not lawyers," he whines, "We are teachers. This is so above our pay grade."

"If you know a lawyer…"

He shakes his head. "Do you?"

"No…" I tilt my head, "But I have a social worker, ex-Air Force godfather."

"We might need him later on. We'll keep working as long as we can on this."

I nod with a sigh. "We have to."

"Now," he looks at me suspiciously, "On a totally unrelated topic, there seems an abundance of mistletoe sprigs in literally every doorway. Know anything about this."

I shrug. "The Secret Santa email went out yesterday, so someone's probably doing something with that."

He just stares at me.

"It's not necessarily me!" I insist. "There are a lot of possible and probable couples within these walls and even more people that want to see them together."

"You mean meddle." Bucky corrects. "And have money on two people kissing and getting busy in their closets in their spare time."

"We want to see you happy?"

He shakes his head at me, chuckling quietly.

"Seriously though." I continue more soberly. "We want to see you happy, just like we do Steve. And if having each other accomplishes that…" I shrug.

He shakes his head. "It is never going to work."

"Why not?" I push.

"He's straight, for starters."

I stare incredulously at Buck before I burst out laughing. "Really?"

"What?"

"You really think that? Unbelievable."

"Hey!"

"Bucky." I sigh exasperatedly. "Let's think about Steven Rogers for a moment. The man has perfectly styled hair of pure gold, he wears sweaters the look hand-knit, and his butt looks like the eighth wonder of the world to members of both the fairer and less-fair sexes."

Bucky nods slowly, then pauses. "Wait, only the eighth wonder?"

I shrug. "Okay, possibly ninth, but only because of Clint's butt. Or tenth, because of Clint's-"

"No. Stop. I need to respect him when I walk out of this room. There are some things I do not need to hear."

I shrug. "Anyways, you tell me how on earth you think Steve chases skirts."

He huffs. "He's not my type."

"Quit kidding yourself. He is _everyone's _type. Six foot one, baby blue eyes, Sir Charms-a-lot smile, cares about kids, and I'm pretty sure he coaches Little League in the summer. Ovaries burst as he walks into the room."

Bucky's blush grew with every quality I listed, and by the end of the list he was imitating a tomato with me grinning at him victoriously.

"I'm not his type?" he tries piteously.

"How do you know that?" I counter.

He just sighs deeply.

"Trump card, right there." I crow smugly. "Just pay attention to the mistletoe, Barnes. They say Christmas is a time for miracles."

"Or winning bets."

"That too." I admit as he sets the file down and walks out. "I'll send you a copy of those."

"Got it. Good luck."

"You too."

.

The kids come in about fifteen minutes after Bucky leaves, and I greet them with the usual warm smile and wave, add a few high fives, as I divide them into groups of four or so to work on making paper link chains to countdown till Christmas.

"Willy said he saw Mister Barnes and Mister Rogers kissing."

I almost fall over from my crouch next to Tomas, where I was helping him untangle a mess of scotch tape from around his fingers. I snap my head over just in time to see Erik finish his stage whisper to Tommy.

I keep an ear on that group as I return to peeling the adhesive off the grubby fingers in front of me.

"Like mommy and daddy do?"

"Yeah. But two boys."

"So? My daddies kiss all the time." Danni counters.

"He said they were in Mister Rogers's classroom."

"Do you think they're in love?" one of the girls at the table sighs dreamily.

"I don't know, what about-"

"Hey." I interrupt, standing to walk over to their desks. "What is the rule about talking about other adults?"

Erik and Tommy shrug and slump in their chairs, but Danni pipes up, "Respect them!"

"Right, Danni," I bite my cheek to pin down on the smile threatening to break out, "But I was asking Erik and Tommy."

"Respect." Erik grumbles, slamming his back against the back of his chair and perching his heels on the edge of his seat.

"Correct. But feet down." I tap his knee expectantly. "And what teachers do when students are not in their room is their business, and nosy people never bode well for anyone."

Danni scrunches up her face. "What does bode mean?"

"It means people don't like other nosy people. Don't be nosy. And get back to work, you three."

They return to work and I quickly return to my desk to dig out my phone, composing my text to my dad.

**Me: **Munchkin Underground scuttlebutt train says Steve and Bucky kissed.

**Dad: **when do your little humans go to lunch?

**Me: **eleven, why?

**Dad: **no reason

As it turns out, there was indeed a reason.

My dad showed up at my door, something he rarely does, just after I returned from passing my kids off to the people on lunch duty.

"What brings you up to the land of sticky fingers and whiny brats? Your words, not mine."

He gives me a mock glare. "You said something about Rogers and Barnes and kissing was involved."

I wave him inside and he sits on one of the desks after carefully checking it for spots that were sticky, snotty, or otherwise wet of disgusting.

"I don't know how accurate this is." I preface as I poke at the slimy substance that the cafeteria claims is mashed potatoes. "Just warning you, this could just be imaginative kids misinterpreting."

"I know that, but I hope it's not the case."

"Okay. Well, what I've heard, is that a kid named Willy-"

"Willy Meyers, probably, one of Sam's."

"Anyways, a kid named Willy saw Steve and Bucky kissing in the art room. Now either it was live saving mouth to mouth, one of them was drugged, or it was non-consensual, which means things are about to get real awkward in here."

"That would be interesting," my dad tips his head, "but make life difficult on everyone else. So not good."

"Not good." I repeat, kicking my feet up on the desk. "You didn't hear this from me."

"You're right, I'm using your excuse of the kids."

I fling a balled up napkin at him. "Not an excuse!"

"Whatever you say. Does the mistletoe have anything to do with this?"

I shake my head. "Not telling. Maybe after everyone reveal who they Secret Santa'd."

"You have a golden thumb with relationships," he whines. "You and Feathers have one of the only healthy relationships within the building."

"Don't forget Bruce and Betty, Thor and Jane-"

"Who doesn't work here."

"-and whatever weird pseudo non-relationship you and Bruce have going on."

"Platonic Scientific life partners!" he protests indignantly. "And Thor's married, he doesn't count."

"But anyways, I don't know anything beyond that. And don't go and push."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Yeah you would."

"Okay fine, I would. But I won't."

"Or get anyone else to."

"No promises."

"Dad…"

"Oh come on, why not?"

"Because they'll tell us when we're ready. I'll tell you anything I find, okay?"

"Alright, I guess."

"Good." I check my watch. "Now get out, I have to pick up my herd of ruffians."

He sighs as I shoo him out the door. "I still don't understand how you put up with them eight hours a day."

"Because I want to."

"Still don't get it."

"Well I do. Now, out."


	16. Chapter 16

The little bell over Quigley's main door is almost drowned out by the pounding bass of the current song, and I look over to see Steve walk in slip off his gloves, and unzip his coat, followed, sure enough, by one James "Bucky" Barnes.

I smirk into my cocktail as the take their normal seats at the table that was already occupied by the main crew, sans Natasha – who claimed she has last minute travel arrangements to make for her winter break trip down to Chicago to visit her less than stellar father – and Thor, who – thanks to family – never came anyways.

We did have Phil, Carol, and Maria though, each caving in to staff pleads, a rare occurrence in and of itself.

I call a garbled greeting, my words muffled by the chicken wing in my mouth.

The two men make the usual round of greetings, order their drinks and a basket of cheese fries, and conversation picks back up again, return to the pace it was at before they entered.

"Wait, wait, wait – you knew about that? How did you know about that?"

I look over to see my dad and Steve facing off, with my dad looking slightly sheepish and awkward, Steve staring him down, and Bucky faintly blushing as he takes a long sip of his beer.

I quickly look back down and stuff my mouth to have a legitimate excuse not to answer any questions.

"I told you already! Prying little eyes witnessed you and Barnes making out and then they spread the word like the April Plague!"

"It's not a plague, it's a cold." Steve snaps. "And the only classes I had today were Wanda's, Clint's, and Bruce's. And I have a feeling that, if one of those three found out, they would be the ones telling me."

My dad shrugs. "Maybe one of them told me?"

Next to me, Clint snorts. "Not without verification first."

"See?" Steve raises an eyebrow. "So how did you know?"

"Um, all I'm saying is that it had something to do with Secret Santa."

"Oooh, oh, oh, oh!" Darcy is practically jumping out of her seat next to Phil, already somewhat drunk on some fruity concoction. "Speaking of Secret Santa's, can we do the big reveal now? Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

We all eventually agree and decide to use past years' guessing game style. The receiver would state the gift and who he or she thinks purchased it, and Darcy – if she was sober enough – would either confirm their guess or correct it by showing the real Secret Santa. The game ended either when everyone had gone or Darcy passes out drunk, whichever came first.

"Okay, since nobody is going to volunteer..." Maria sighs, starting the ball rolling. "I got an entire gift basket of pirate themed items, including a few...outfits, if you could call them that, which show more than they cover up. Since you lot have been a thorn in my side for the longest time, I'm assuming it was one of you. I'm going for...Stark?"

"Why does everyone think all the naughty gifts come from me?!"

Everyone just stares at him, with Clint muttering "You're the definition of naughty," and drawing a chuckle from me.

"Nope." Darcy giggles. "Carol."

Everyone turns to the ex-military kindergarten teacher, who just shrugs. "What? I think she's a stressed woman that needs a little release, and I was just helping speed along one of those possible outlets."

"Well, it didn't work." Maria snaps.

"Obviously." Carol fires back.

"Next!" Darcy hiccups. "U-um, Artsy McHottie."

Once the drunken nickname is deciphered, we all turn to see Steve red as some of the paint he uses and grinning like a madman. "Two tickets to see that new comedy club that opened up in September. Somebody here knows I like comedy."

I raise an eyebrow. "Are _both_ tickets going to be used?"

His blush somehow darkens as he nods, and nobody misses the not-so-subtle way he glances at Bucky before sipping his beer. "I'm guessing...um, Maria?"

Darcy shakes her head. "Bruce."

Steve grins at him as I send him a sly, knowing look, which he mirrors with a small nod towards Bucky.

"Next up, Nerd Hotstuff."

Phil glances at the office manager, visually checking her intoxication levels, before his face splits into a grin. "Full sets of Harry Potter, Narnia, Boxcar Children, and Babysitter's Club book. Whoever gave them is on my good side for at least the next month."

I can tell, no verification from Darcy needed, that my boyfriend was the one that gifted Phil, just by the pleased look on his face.

"Hey, look, the first gift not motivated by sexual favors." I lean over to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Nice job."

"Why thank you." He grins. "Figured this would get him off my back about book donation until _next_ winter break."

I sigh in mock exasperation. "Can't anyone do anything just for the sake of friendship?"

"That's funny, and no."

I roll my eyes as Darcy selects the next guesser. "Computer Hottie."

"I got yet another book on _Behavior Acceptable in a Socially Accepted World_, another attempt at calming this awesomeness," he gestures towards himself, and the majority of the table rolls their eyes. "And given that I've been here for almost four years, you people should really know I never read those anyways. Since you people who might be friends, and my spawn," he waves towards our group, "don't care anymore-"

"Or at least don't object, we stopped objecting a while ago."

He glares at Bucky, complete with hand gestures, "Anyways, it wasn't one of you, so I'm going with my higher ups. Pirate?"

"Nuh uh."

He tilts his head. "Okay, should have known that...Maria?"

Maria nods and clinks her ice against the glass. "Yeah, I know it won't work, but that doesn't mean I won't keep trying."

"One of the definitions of insanity is do the same thing over again and expecting different results." I point out.

She just shrugs and sips her drink as Darcy calls the next name, only half conscious. "Future Mr. Artsy McHottie."

We all look expectantly at Bucky, who blushes into his bottle at the nickname as he takes a sip. "I didn't get any material gifts, per say, just a lot of weird things happening. Nobody would be next to me in a doorway, there were random times when everyone would jump away from me like I had the plague or something, and I had art for like three weeks."

"And?" I raise an eyebrow.

"And...um...Steve and I..."

"Made out in the art room." I finish quickly, with an eye roll, "Quit acting like blushing brides already."

Bucky squints at me, then turns towards Darcy. "Was it Tony?"

Darcy almost drops her glass and mumbles something having to do with me...I think.

Bucky sighs. "Really, Taylor?"

I hop off my seat to perform a mock-curtsy. "You're welcome. I want to be maid or matron of honor at your wedding."

Bucky glares, but Steve replies, "Deal."

I nod and hop back into my seat. "Is Darcy still conscious?"

Carol leans over towards the brunette. "Barely."

"Alright then!" I clap my hands. "Who's next?"

Carol leans down as Darcy sleepily mumbles something. "You want it verbatim?"

We all glance at each other. "Sure, why not."

"She said 'Awesome Tiny Nerd' was to go next."

"Does Bruce count as tiny?"

Bruce smirks. "Betty would tell you otherwise."

We all groan at the euphemism, but Bruce just sips his ginger ale before grinning. "I got the newest update to Betty's thesis and two tickets two that couples retreat in July. Whoever gave those to me either really wants me to get laid, or-"

"Yeah," my dad cuts him off. "It's probably that."

"And no prizes for guessing who." I chuckle.

He nods and raises his glass of ginger ale towards my dad, who gives a small, yet sincere, grin and raises his own glass. "Thanks, Tony."

"No biggie."

"Hey Darcy – Darcy?" I peek over the table. "Well she's out."

My dad snorts. "Lightweight."

Bruce flicks his shoulder. "You go to AA meetings every week, Mr. No Room to Talk."

"Get some sleep," Maria calls as we all gather our coats, gloves, hats, and tip the bartender, "You all have midterms coming up, none of the kids need sleep deprived teachers. Consider that an order!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" I give a two fingered sloppy salute as I pull on my hat. We share a glance and silently agree that I would make sure my Dad got some sleep too.

"See you all on Monday."

"You might not see Darcy, she might have finally succumb to alcohol poisoning."

"Nope," Phil grunts as he hoists her over his shoulder, "She's got more lives than the cats she loves. Plus she's still warm."

I nod. "I'm still calling her in the morning."

"Suit yourself."

"See, this is why we bought stock in Advil."

Phil nods. "Advil and markers."


	17. Chapter 17

I don't look up when my door opens with a whoosh, almost banging against the wall. I don't look up when someone drags a chair in front of my desk.

I do, however, look up when a head hits the stack of papers in front of me.

"Care to move your head of my reports?" I tap Clint's head with a pencil, using the same tone I often use on students.

He picks up his head, moves it to the left a few inches, and props it on his fists. "I have a problem."

"Kids went home last Friday." I remind him. "Problems with them can wait until January 5th."

He shakes his head. "Not a kid problem."

"Okay…"

"I'm moving."

I freeze and snap my head up at him. "Like, moving…out of district? Out of county? State? Country?"

"No, no, no." He grabs and squeezes my worrying hands. "Nothing like that. Staying here, staying in county, at least. It's just, my house is getting a little stale and cramped."

"Oh." I give a relieved sigh. "Good. And, by the way, I am many things, but a realtor is not one of them."

"I know that," he snorts. "You see, the thing is…"

I raise a patient eyebrow.

"Can you help me?" he blurts all at once, before grinning shyly and running a hand through his hair. "Because, let's be honest, you spend a lot of time in my house, and you probably know me better than I do. And you're a genius, so I trust your judgment."

I blink at him, and he looks a mixture of hopeful and crestfallen. "Was I too blunt? I had that practiced in the car for-mph!"

I cut him off with a heart-stopping kiss, pulling back with a breathy chuckle as I wait for the focus to re-enter his eyes.

"Um, not that I'm complaining, but what?"

"I would have agreed without the speech you know."

"Oh, good." He sighs. "So you're in?"

"Yeah. Someone needs to keep you from doing anything you'll regret and sign for the poor realtor if you get bored and take your hearing aids out." I tease him.

"I will have you know Natasha can do the same thing."

I raise my eyebrows. "You haven't seen Natasha in her underwear…" I pause, "Have you?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, we would never work. Tried when I first got here. She will forever be that one girl friend guys go to for advice about their girlfriend."

I nod. "I don't have one of those…well, maybe Steve or Bucky, because they're both so gay it makes my sparkly skinny jeans hurt."

His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. "You have a pair of those?"

"No, but if I did, they'd hurt because of Steve and Bucky."

He grins and leans in to kiss me again. "So, about the moving?"

"I'll set up a Zillow account, you send me what you find."

"Will do."

* * *

"Do you think Clint needs a laundry room?" I wonder aloud, causing my dad to look over at me strangely.

"Why are you playing realtor again?"

"Because," I sigh, "he needed my help and I have nothing better to do than grade papers." I wave towards the stack of papers on my desk. "And my papers can wait two weeks. If it let Clint wait that long, he'll end up in some paper mâchė shack somewhere."

"You have so much faith in him," he snorts, turning back to the computer supplies catalog he was browsing.

I just shrug. "So is that a yes or no on the laundry room?"

"How should I know? Ask the Soviet."

"Fine." I mock, digging out my phone and composing a message to Natasha. _Do you think Clint needs a laundry room?_

**Soviet Redhead: **laundry room or mud room?

**Me: **depends, why?

**Soviet Redhead: **maybe one room for both.

**Me: **nice.

"You were right, I should ask Natasha. She is good."

My dad rolls his eyes as I check a few things on my computer.

"What about a deck?"

* * *

"No."

Clint looks mildly offended. "But it's so cute!"

"It's practically a trailer." I counter. "Seriously, spread your arms out and tell me you don't hit the walls."

"But…"

I just cross my arms and stare at him. "Trailer, Clint."

"A cute trailer," he retorts but follows me out of the tiny living room anyways. "It has its charms."

"Sure it does." I look over my shoulder at him. "Like not being able to fit more than three of our – um, your - friends at one time." I swallow thickly and hope he doesn't notice my slip of tongue.

He doesn't. "Fine. What about that place down on fifth?"

I purse my lips. "Depends on how many bedrooms you want."

"How many do I really, truly need?"

"Obviously one." I shrug. "If you ever want guests then two, maybe a third to convert into an office?"

"For what?" he squints. "I don't work from home, and if I do I can do I from the couch with a single red pen."

"True. Come on, next house." I nudge him towards the car while I politely apologize to the realtor and give her the address of the next house on his list.

"Thanks again for doing this," he says as he starts the car and I buckle my seatbelt.

"We have been over this," I sigh, "quit thanking me."

He gives me a coy smile. "Verbally or otherwise?"

"Just verbally. Other ways, on the other hand…" Clint smirks and begins to lean in. "But," I hold up a finger, "After we look at this house."

Clint's face forms an adorable pout. "I didn't know you acting as a pseudo realtor would draw from other stuff."

"You know what they say about mixing business and pleasure."

"No I don't, but I do know that, had I known this, I would have never hired you."

I just snort because we both know that isn't true.


	18. Chapter 18

"Okay, people, here's how the teams are going to go! Listen up, 'cause I'm only saying this once!" Darcy raises the bullhorn to her lips. "On one side, we have half the classroom based teachers and Specials 1. This means kindergarten, first grade, and second grade teamed with music and art. On the other side, we've got the other half of the classrooms and Specials 2. Third, fourth and fifth with P.E. and technology. Grab the balls and head to the line!"

I groan as I scoop up a few dodge balls and head to the middle of the court, dreading facing down Clint, my dad, and Natasha. The opposing team consists of Wanda Maximoff and Jessica Cage from third grade, Bucky and Melinda May from fourth, and Clint and Wade, who was standing in for old Mrs. Miller, for fifth, alongside Natasha, Thor, and my dad.

I toss one of the balls towards Steve, my team's only truly redeeming quality. Otherwise we have Newbie music teacher, whom I still have not named; Carol Danvers, May's kindergarten counterpart; Sam and I, the first grade team; and Bruce and his obscure partner, representing second grade.

It was the first day of winter break, in-service (staff only) days ended the week before, and somehow the staff - minus administration - got roped into a dodge ball game in the gym, mainly since nobody was leaving for vacation till the next Monday.

"Go!"

I hear Darcy's shout and am forced to dive right off the bat, hitting the ground and sending a ball back over the line and running full force into the game as Darcy starts her first string of commentary.

"The game is afoot! Team 2 is roaring out of the gate, with Romanoff and Barton on defense and Stark on offense. Team 1 has fallen back, with the little Stark hitting the ground and firing her own shot back, almost taking out Cage, Cage avoids narrowly."

"Incoming!"

I hear Carol's warning and look up to see a red ball approaching my head fast. I quickly spring up and catch it firmly, causing loud Russian cursing to break out from the other side of the gym.

"Sorry Nat!" I call as I wind my arm up and send the ball towards Melinda's back.

Darcy eggs us on from the bleachers. "Oh! And a spectacular catch from Mini Stark-"

"Don't call me that!"

"-that takes the Soviet out of the game. Melinda is almost taken out, but she falls and narrowly avoids elimination. Team 1 is down a member and – oh! Would you look at that!"

I turn towards whatever everyone is staring at to see Newbie Teacher get nailed with a ball to the shoulder, courtesy of my dad, who is now whooping and hollering on the other side of the gym, safe behind Natasha.

Darcy resumes the play-by-play as Newbie scampers up the bleachers.

"The music teacher is down and out for the count! Both teams are down one player now, things are heating up!"

I hop to the side and pick up an unattended ball, quickly sending it towards the red hair of Wanda Maximoff, cheering as it nails her near the collarbone and she sulks over to the bleachers to join Newbie and Natasha.

"Maximoff is down! Team 2 is now up one player, will they take advantage of this feat?" Darcy calls in an exaggerated announcer's voice.

My team chases after the balls with a renewed vigor and the game continues.

"Oh, this is getting good! We have Odinson and Rogers going head to head, both monsters of muscle. The middle of the court has morphed into a battlefield, it's gruesome…and Wilson – Sam, not Wade – is out! A hit by Wade Wilson everyone, assist by Banner! Wade has begun a victory dance; go Wade, go Wade, it's your birthday, go Wade – oh, come on, people! Don't be like that. Wade is down, hit by Rogers, spectacular assist by Danvers, nice job."

I high five Carol and Steve quickly before ducking to avoid a ball precision aimed at my head. "Clint!"

"What!"

"You're a dead man!"

"You can't date me if I'm dead!"

"Team to team conversation between Stark and Barton, careful you two, we don't need any tension…well, none not added by me, anyways."

I roll my eyes at the both of them and nail Bruce's obscure counterpart in the back of the knees, sending him crashing to the ground, hard.

"Bruce's counterpart…um, still don't know your name, sorry…anyways, another one bites the dust from Team 2!"

I glance around at the people on my side of the line, and only Carol, Steve, Bruce, and I are still standing. I grab as many balls as I can and hand them to my teammates, giving each one a determined look.

Team 1 starts dropping much quicker.

Dad goes down thanks to Bruce, a ball bouncing off his ribs. He falls in slow motion, howling the whole way down, moaning "No! Noooo, Bruce, how could you do this to me, noooo-o-o-o…"

I glance exasperatedly at Darcy, and she nods before raising the bullhorn again. "Stark, get your butt of the court so the people around you can get back to nailing each other in the head with balls, please."

"Fine," he grumbles, getting up and brushing himself off, "You people are no fun, I swear, no fun _at all_…"

Darcy gives the call to resume the game as soon as my dad is off the court.

May turns to catch the ball I roll quickly past her feet, and she doesn't see the next ball, one thrown by Carol and headed for her back, coming.

"That was amazing! Melinda May goes down, thanks to a deceit set by Stark and Danvers. The teams now stand neck and neck, with four people standing for each team! On Team 1, we have Cage, Barnes, Odinson, and Barton."

Some of the now-spectators on the bleachers erupt into whistles and catcalls.

Darcy briefly pauses until they finish, then continuing with the roster updates. "Team 2 has Banner, Stark, Rogers, and Danvers still on their feet."

The other half of the bleachers whistle and cheer.

"Tensions are running high in the gym, spectators wait with bated breath!"

I slide to avoid a ball sailing past, spinning to watch it knock Carol off her feet and to the floor. I jump to catch the ball as it rebounds, sending it back towards its owner and making Jessica join the bleacher crowd.

"Cage takes Danvers down, Stark catches the ball and puts a return to sender sticker on it! Cage and Danvers are down, teams are reduced to three each side."

"Taylor, duck!"

I heed Bruce's call, hitting the ground without even looking to see what I was avoiding. I do, however, look up at the twin grunts that come from opposite sides of the gym; I see Bruce and Bucky each rubbing a sore spot with a ball rolling away from them as the able towards the bleachers.

"Spectacular move there! Banner and Barnes take each other out, with Banner just narrowly saving Stark from elimination. Nice save there, nice save!"

I nod at Bruce as he takes a seat next to my dad, and he grins back before nodding towards Clint. I look to see him standing tall, one ball in each hand and a devilish smirk on his lips.

I instantly scramble back, chasing down one of the balls on my side of the court, actively avoiding the line of heavy fire between Steve and Thor.

"And it's melted down to four players! Rogers and Odinson are going hard at each other – and for once, I did not mean that as an innuendo! We all know Thor has kids!"

"Yeah, I'm not forgetting that any time soon!" I call as I jump to avoid a ball whizzing by my head.

"Yes, and Stark and Barton have dissolved into a showdown – both with freaky aim and no qualms in competition! How will this go down?"

I ignore her as I duck to avoid one ball then jump to dodge a second, firing back my own two-shot.

I hear gasps and moans from the crowd as Darcy starts speaking again. "And Rogers is down, hit by one of Stark's deflects! Rogers is down – oh! He manages to hit Thor on the way down, and that's technically not a foul according to the internet! Both Thor and Steve are down, just two players left! A to the death showdown between Barton and Stark."

I wince as I feel the burn from a ball skidding past my ear.

"These two are the 'it' couple here, tied for the lead on the 'when will they get married already' scale, just next to Fury and Hill – please nobody tell them I said that, I do not need a pay cut. Personally, I have money on the 'by the end of the school year' deadline, already have my wedding gifts purchased-"

Clint and I pause and lower our balls to glare at Darcy, and she raises her hands in surrender as we raise our projectiles again.

"Sorry, sorry. Seriously though, hurry the hell up Barton. Anyways, there are a whole lot of near misses happening here, a few rubber burns, some very close calls."

I sigh internally, getting bored of the constant stalemate I've found myself in.

And then I realize that the ball in my hands is the only one left on my side, all the others are behind Clint.

Clint charges forward and tosses a ball, I throw one back blindly right before we collide, the force of the impact sending us rolling across the polished gym floor.

We stop near the back wall, with Clint flat on his back and me somehow straddling him. We both stare up at Darcy, waiting for the final verdict.

"And that was amazing, it happened all at once. Did anyone get a photo finish? Please tell me someone did. Anyone?"

"I did! I did!" My dad has one hand in the air, the other holding his phone as he bounces in his seat, acting much like the kids we teach.

Darcy waves him over impatiently, and Clint and I watch along with everyone else as they focus on a video, whispering occasionally to each other.

Finally, Darcy steps back and raises the bullhorn. "And the hit goes to…Stark! Team 2 wins!"

I step off Clint, helping him up before joining Carol, Sam, Bruce, and Steve in their cheering chant of "We won! And you didn't! Na na, na na naaaaaaa na!" and stupid victory dances as Newbie and Obscure Partner watch, giving us strange looks from the sidelines.

Darcy sets the bullhorn down and plops onto the bleachers as the rest of us dissipate, heading for the showers and our bags for our lunches, conversation about vacation plans and general gossip buzzing around the room.

I grin at Clint as I follow Natasha towards the locker room, and the grin he gives me shows no hard feelings.

I turn back to Natasha, "Hey Tasha, are there really bets on-"

"You and Clint?" She raises an eyebrow as we enter the locker room. "Of course."

"Right." I shake my head. "I forgot, everyone bets on everything here."

"Like your dad and that one time he placed money on how fast that flu would spread."

I shudder. "That was a bad February. Don't forget Coulson and how fast you would bring the Odin-children to the office."

"Yeah, that one raked in a lot."

I nod and turn back to my locker, pausing briefly facing the sheet metal door. "But seriously, the end of the school year?"

"Yep."

"Not going to happen."

I can almost hear Natasha's smirk as she replies "I'll bet you ten bucks."

I groan until my head hits the locker.


	19. Chapter 19

If you asked anybody that generally knew me two (or more) years ago where I would be two days before Christmas, they would not say the mall tailing my friends while they hunted for last minute presents like madwomen.

But that's where I was.

"Darcy, how do you ever get any paperwork done?" I groan as I follow her into yet another store.

"Same way she shops for Christmas presents." Carol says from behind me, hands on her hips. "Last minute everything."

"Hey, I'm busy at school!" Darcy protests from within the store.

"Yeah, checking out hot substitutes." Natasha fires back.

"With a side of weird." I add.

"Not weird, classy." Darcy corrects me.

Carol, Natasha, and I glance at each other. "Did the definition of classy change while we weren't looking?"

"Nope, it's just completely subjective." Darcy sighs as she walks out of the store. "There's nothing here, let's move on."

"Darcy, we were barely there for five minutes." I point out as we walk the polished floors of the shopping center. "What are you looking for?"

"I don't know," she moans. "I do not know why I even try anymore. All the people that give a crap about me already have their presents and see me at work every day. Those that do not don't shop for me yet, for some reason, I shop for them."

"You know, just call them your parents instead of people because we all know who you're referring to." I quip. "And is it because of your warm, loving caring- ack!"

I duck out of the way of Darcy's hand, jumping behind Natasha in a desperate bid for safety. "Sorry, sorry!"

Darcy just smirks.

"Anyways," I continue once the coast is clear, "Why are we here shopping for people who do not care about Darcy?"

Everyone in our little ragtag group just shrugs. I start humming the song currently playing through the mall, Jingle Bell Rock, as we pass another group of stores that might have seemed like good possibilities had they not been vetoed by Darcy.

"Okay, while you decide, how about the rest of us make sure we have all our bases covered?" Darcy nods distractedly, so I turn to Carol and Natasha and start listing names.

"Any and all in-laws?"

They both shake their heads. "You're the only one with any to speak of."

"And I got them some snow globes, ornaments, things like that. Check. Significant others?"

Carol snorts. "Way to be politically correct. I don't have any, Tasha?"

"Nope."

"My god." I throw my hands in the air. "Am I the only one with a life around here?"

"Pretty much." Darcy calls over her shoulder as she darts into another store.

"The rest of us are occupied with the kids and Netflix." Natasha says simply.

"And don't forget the paperwork." Carol amends.

"How could I forget the paperwork?" I drawl, smirking dryly.

"I don't know, maybe you could." Natasha shrugs. "You have a loaded plate."

Carol holds up and hand and begins ticking off fingers. "Teacher, girlfriend, Tony-wrangler, part-time realtor…how's that going, by the way?"

"He's looking at a property a few minutes away from my dad's." I shrug. "We're going out to look next week."

"_He's _looking?" Natasha squints skeptically. "Not _we're _looking?"

"Yes." I look at her curiously. "He's the only one that's moving. I'm there because a) he claims I know him better than he knows himself, b) he trusts my judgment, and c) I can sign if he gets bored and removes his hearing aids."

"I can do all those things." Natasha insists. "He wants _you_ to like the house."

"I'll put twenty bucks on the hope that you will move in not long after he buys the house." Carol proposes.

"Deal." Natasha shakes her hand.

"And I'll put twenty on disproving that." I offer a hand, getting two smirks and handshakes.

Darcy walks up, her arms still empty. "What are we betting on?"

Natasha and Carol explain the stakes to her as I tune them out slightly, the hair on the back of my neck rising as what my dad calls my "Spidey Senses" – a sixth sense a lot of teachers seem to possess when it comes to kids – tingle.

"Riley, don't run off like that!"

I turn to see a mom I vaguely recognize from last year hightailing it through the crowds, and I squint to track a smaller blonde head zigzagging through the fray about ten yards ahead of her. My brain registers the kid as Riley Sanders, a well-meaning current second grader and one of mine last year.

I look up to see Riley heading for exactly what I suspected – the ice cream shop. He also isn't getting any closer to his mom, so I glance at Natasha, Carol, and Darcy, still deep in conversation about my personal life, before trotting off an intersection course with Riley, hoping to cut his path off both before he gets to the ice cream and until his mom can catch up.

I manage to skid to a stop in front of the ice cream shop, unseen by Riley as he stops, panting in front of the shop.

I drop to one knee a foot behind my former student. "Hi there Riley."

"It wasn't me!" is his automatic response as he spins around to face me. "Miss Stark!"

I grin as I accept his quick hug. "Hi Riley. How is second grade?"

"Harder," he shrugs. "But I can do it."

"I know that." I grin at him again, listening to his mother's footsteps approach behind us. "Didn't I tell you that I never doubted you?"

He nods shyly. "Yeah, you did."

I squeeze his shoulder and stand, turning around just as his gasping mother reaches us. "Mrs. Sanders."

She shakes my offered hand, looking mildly surprised. "Miss Stark, good to see you again. Thanks for the help here."

"Good to see you to, and it was no issue. I was here anyways, helping some friends with last minute shopping, and I recognized Riley here, so I figured why not."

The mom, Michelle Sanders, chuckles and nods. "Something about kids, isn't it?"

"Always get us." I agree. "How is he doing?"

"Good," she sighs. "He's trying, and it's been a good semester, but each teacher has a different style. He's having trouble recovering from you."

I bite down on the dirty joke that immediately springs to mind as I nod. "That's not uncommon. The style differences, not the part about me. Just let him know that he can talk to me anytime he needs." I glance over her shoulder. "But for right now, he's running off again."

She follows my gaze and quickly runs off again, waving over her shoulder.

I grin and wave as I hear Carol, Natasha, and Darcy walk up behind me. "I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?"

Natasha sighs. "Disappear without letting anyone know."

"You would have known had you not been betting on my love life." I insist. "Can we leave now?"

"Yeah." Darcy fishes something out of a bag. "I got my mom something." She holds up a CD.

"An Elton John album." I raise an eyebrow. "A CD?"

"She has a player." Darcy shrugs. "I don't mind as long as she wears headphones. Keeps her mind off nagging me."

We all work our way back towards where we entered, being delayed by snack carts, the food court, and a stand of furry little keychain things Darcy thought were adorable and had to take a bazillion pictures of.

We eventually drag her out, along with her CD, and head for home because we _do _have lives – although, according to Darcy, that's only me.

* * *

**Yes, I am aware that I have firing off updates for this like nobody's business and neglecting _everything else. _**

**I have a huge idea for this, and I feel like writing non-violent!Avengers right now, so consider all my other stories on hold until I show or say otherwise.**


	20. Chapter 20

"So, any thoughts on this one yet?"

Clint shrugs as we crunch through the thin snow on the driveway leading to our - _his_ \- latest prospect. "It feels good. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a nice kitchen, a big yard-"

"Why do you need a yard?"

He looks indignant as he replies, "I could get a dog."

"Really?" I tilt my head. "You don't seem like much of a dog person."

He shrugs. "Never had a chance. You?"

I mirror his shrug. "Sure, but my dad and I never really had the time, with our lives back then. My heart always melts at those ASPCA commercials though."

He snorts. "Taylor, everyone's hearts melt at those."

I roll my eyes as we wipe our boots and step up onto the small front stoop and into the house. "Nice floor." is the first thing that comes out of my mouth.

Clint looks at the cherry hardwood beneath our feet. "Yeah, I like it. Quick question though: where does all the snowy/muddy stuff go?"

I blink at the question, saved from answering just in time by his realtor popping up and speaking for me. "If you will come right this way."

We follow her out of the entryway/foyer thing and are lead into a big, open concept kitchen, living room, and dining room. She stops us in the kitchen, where, if you turn the right way, you can see everything else in the room. We lean against the island in the middle as the realtor babbles on and on about the white cabinets, the tan granite countertops, and the appliances in the room.

"And over there," she points towards the big empty space in front of us, "would be the living room. The wall right there would be where a TV and/or entertainment center would go. The space itself is plenty enough for couches, armchairs, love seats, a coffee table..."

I cut her off, pointing towards the double doors opposite from where she was pointing. "What about those?"

She just takes the question in stride, leading us over to the doors. "These lead out to a deck and the back yard. Want to see?"

I look to Clint, and he nods. "Sure."

We are lead out the doors, emerging on a wooden deck about the size of the kitchen with two steps leading down to a fenced-in yard looking to be about an acre in size.

"The deck is perfect for hosting barbecues, parties, other get-togethers like that. You can fit a grill up here."

"That's a good thing." I nod, then look at the boards beneath our feet. "Are these sealed?"

"Yes," the realtor nods quickly, "the previous owners made sure to prevent all types of rot, mildew, and mold."

"Would a dog be happy out here?" Clint asks, gesturing towards the yard.

"Most definitely. You could put a dog house up here on the deck, over there in the shadow of the fence, really anywhere in the yard."

A few more questions about yard work and such are exchanged before we head back into the house and through an archway on the east side of the living room which leads to where I assume all the bedrooms to be.

"The first door on your left here is the first bedroom, one that could be easily converted to something else if needed."

I lean against the doorframe as I take in the room silently. It's a decent sized room, the walls a soft daisy yellow with white trim. A hole in the ceiling looks like it was supposed to hold either a light or light/ceiling fan combo. "You know," I glance at Clint out of the corner of my eye, "I know you said you didn't need an office, but you don't need three bedrooms either. And you do need somewhere to file bills and all that good stuff."

"I guess," he shrugs. "But it's a nice room, whatever I decide to do with it. What are the dimensions?"

"14.5 by 14.5," the realtor supplies.

"You could easily fit at least one desk in here," I muse, visually measuring the space.

"Maybe," Clint shrugs. "The other bedrooms?"

"The second bedroom is the second door on the right. The door before that is the first bathroom."

Clint slips into the bedroom while I poke my head into the bathroom. It's not bad, minus the completely white walls. It's got a tub-shower combo on the opposite wall, a small sink, a toilet – average.

I go back into the hall just in time to see Clint come out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. "It's exactly the same as the last bedroom," he reports. "Just red, not yellow."

The realtor nods. "Yes, those two are identical. But the master bedroom is different, follow me."

She leads us through the last door on the left of the hallway, almost at the end.

"Well this is certainly bigger," Clint remarks. "How big?"

"25 by 25," the realtor replies. "As you can see, there is no furniture yet-"

"Anywhere in the house," I grumble.

"-so you would need to furnish everything." The realtor finishes, ignoring me completely. "The previous owners had the bed on the opposite wall, one end table on each side, and the dresses right next to us and separated by a TV."

"Not bad," I muse, turning to the realtor. "Is that the entire house?"

"All that's left is the garage, and that's the door off the kitchen," she sighs. "Just big room with no lighting and a garage door."

"Can I add lighting?" Clint asks.

"Why would you need lighting in the garage, minus the standard light?" I ask him. "Do you sit there and stare at your car?"

"Maybe," he shrugs, walking back through the hall and into the main area. I go back to leaning against the island in the kitchen while Clint and his realtor discuss price, budget, closing, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Unfortunately, this gives me time to think back on the girl's thoughts during the mall trip a few days ago. If I look at the open space ahead of me, I can imagine the next football party taking place.

The garage could have more clutter than space, a watch-your-step zone.

The yard could have a dog running around and getting all muddy…and then tracking that mud through the house.

(They aren't all glamorous.)

Operative word here being _could_, because they don't. I scold myself for daydreaming; this is Clint's possible new house, not mine, and not _ours. _

"Taylor?"

I jump and spin to see Clint standing in the archway to the hallway, giving me an amused look. "Clint, don't do that!"

"Do what?" He smirks. "I was just standing here."

"Sure you were," I roll my eyes. "So…how did it go?"

"I think this is the one," he grins. "Right in budget, still in zone for the school, only minutes away from my friends…"

"And me?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Inflated ego, anyone?" he leans in to peck me on the cheek. "But yeah, you."

I squeeze his forearm and begin to head back to the foyer, but I don't hear him following me.

I slowly turn to see him leaning back against the kitchen counter and staring at me unreadably.

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

He shakes his head, "No, you don't. Can a guy stare at his beautiful girlfriend without raising suspicion?"

I shake my head and lean in for a kiss. "You hopeless romantic you. Now come on, I need to be home in time to make sure my dad doesn't take down the house with the tree."


	21. Chapter 21

"How long till next year?"

"Four more hours," my dad sighs as he nudges his cart's stuck wheel back into line. "How many pizzas do you think we need?"

"Given that Bruce and Steve somehow eat enough to choke an elephant," I sigh, "One each. Natasha and I both like cheese; Darcy, Bruce, and Betty all somehow love veggie; Clint, Steve, Phil, and pretty much everyone else will eat pepperoni. So a pepperoni for Steve, veggie for Bruce, two pepperonis, and a meat lovers."

He pulls the listed items out of their spot on the freezer isle and sets them in the cart in front of him. "Next up…dips."

I look up. "I'll go get them," I offer, "they're just in the next isle. Meanwhile you should go get the drinks – you forget the sangria, I will not deal with the consequences."

"I learned that lesson the hard way," he agrees. "I won't repeat my mistakes, don't worry, Darcy won't have to go all homicidal maniac on my butt this year."

"I sure hope so." I stop my cart by the right place in the refrigerated section. "Okay, dips. Let's see. French onion, bacon dip?...alright then…hummus, queso, salsa just in case…" I grab the containers off the shelf. "I really hope that's all we need, or else we may have problems."

I mentally check 'chip dip' off the shopping list that my dad had folded in his back pocket at the moment.

Speaking of-

"Should I get the cranberry vodka or the blueberry vodka?" he asks as he holds up two bottles.

"This subject is completely objective," I chuckle, "because you don't drink anything stronger than a Coke and I don't drink Vodka unless I'm hammered, which I don't plan on being tonight."

"Okay…what does Red drink?"

"Cranberry, from what I've seen. Bucky will drink whatever she does if you get him drunk enough."

He rolls his eyes but puts the blueberry back anyways. "Pretty sure anyone will drink anything if their blood alcohol levels are high enough."

"Did you get rum? Please tell me you got the rum." I peer into the cart hopefully.

"Calm down. Yes, I did, two kinds in fact: normal and vanilla."

"Oh, goodie," I swipe the list from his pocket. "Pizza, dip, drinks…did we get chips?"

"Like ten different kinds."

"And we don't need dessert because Jane is baking."

"Oh, good, we won't die from the cake, only the alcohol poisoning," he jokes as we push the carts towards the front of the store.

"There is always that. We have everything?"

"Yeah, we should."

"Sure?" I visually check our cartloads. "I won't be able to come back after the streamers are broken out."

"I'm sure," he reassures me as he checks out.

"Fine. I'll meet you in the car."

.

"_Welcome partiers, this is your captain speaking. We now have 15 minutes left in this year; I repeat, it is now 11:45, get your breath mints ready and make sure you can still cheer."_

The music turned back up and I roll my eyes at my dad. "Why did we let him DJ again?"

"Because it keeps him out of my love life, your love life, and Steve's and Bucky's love lives," Jane reminds me as she sips her Bloody Mary, for once letting Thor be the sober one because "Someone needs to be a parent tonight."

(I just had to convince her that Thor could parent too.)

"Oh yeah, that." I nod. "That too."

Jane laughs and looks over my shoulder. "How is the house search coming?"

I turn to follow her gaze to my boyfriend. "His house? He found the one, a few minutes away. The closure should go through by the beginning of February."

She gives me a skeptical look. "_His _house?"

"Yes," I throw my head back with a groan. "Why does everyone think otherwise?"

"Because he's house shopping and he brought his girlfriend – of two freaking years – along when he could have just brought a friend."

"Okay, I see your point." I concede softly, then shake my head. "But that's not the case. We aren't moving in together, it's his house."

Jane just gives me a sympathetic look and shakes her own head. "Whatever you say."

I roll my eyes and leave to hunt down more rum cake.

I'm on the couch ten minutes, one slice of cake, and one refill of my drink later, watching Ryan Seacrest on ABC while my friends fight over goofy, too-big glasses.

Clint perches his head on my chin and presses his cheek against mine as we watch the lit up crystal ball dangling above Times Square.

Carol taxi whistles. "Every shut up! The countdown is starting!"

All the chatter fades, per her command, as Times Square starts cheering like crazy. "Ten!"

"Nine!" my dad quiets the music.

"Eight!" Bruce shifts in his seat, hands in his pockets.

"Seven!" Jessica bounces in her chair.

"Six!" Darcy gives a small squeal.

"Five!" Thor slings an arm around his wife.

"Four!" Bucky leans his head on Steve's shoulder.

"Three!" Natasha allows a small grin to appear on her face.

"Two!" Clint squeezes my hand.

"One!" There's a split second of silence.

"Happy New Year!" People - both in the room and on screen - erupt in deafening cheers as the ball plummets.

Clint pulls me close and covers my smile with a kiss as I throw my arm around his neck. Out of the corner of my eye I see Thor scoop Jane up, Phil peck Natasha on the cheek like one might a sister, my dad roll his eyes, Jessica and Darcy lean back and watch us with a hint of sadness in their eyes, and Bruce –

The room falls completely silent as Bruce whistles then clears his throat. "Thank you."

We all watch as he turns to face Betty. "Betty?"

"Yes...?"

"I need - er, want - to ask you a question."

We all just stare at him as he blushes and stumbles over his words.

Then he sighs. "This went better in my head. At least so far."

"Bruce…?"

He glances at Betty, and before anyone realizes what's happening – and probably also before he can chicken out – he drops to one knee.

The room gasps as a whole, and a quick glance reveals that everyone shares pretty much the same thought: _where did this come from?!_

"Betty…" Bruce takes a deep breath as he looks up into her eyes. "There are some people out there that say that humans were once two halves of a whole and that your other half is somewhere out there. I can prove them right; I'm looking at my other half right now. You are funny, beautiful, smart, and caring, and it would make me the happiest man in the world should you say yes to one question: Elizabeth Ross, will you marry me?"

Betty opens her mouth, closes it again, and looks a bit like a fish as she struggles for the words to answer.

Movement catches my eye and I look over to see Natasha mouthing what looks like _nod, just nod _over Bruce's shoulder.

Betty must've seen this too, because she looks back at Bruce and frantically nods, tears streaming down her face.

The room cheers again as Bruce stands, kisses, and hugs Betty, sliding the ring on her finger. We all take turns either hugging Bruce or Betty or slapping Bruce on the back (Dad.)

Natasha, Darcy, Carol, Jessica, and I all wrap Betty in a group hug, squealing and giggling – save for Natasha, who is softly chuckling.

"Let me see the ring!" I bounce on the balls of my feet until Betty sticks her hand out.

I let out a small gasp. The ring is a plain, silver band with an emerald set in the center and a small diamond on either side. The emerald catches the light and glitters, sending a green glow onto various surfaces.

"Pretty," Carol muses. "Very pretty."

"My precious!" Darcy cackles in a semi-decent Gollum impersonation. I smack her hand away from the ring and send her a mock stern glance. "Sorry."

I roll my eyes and throw an arm around Betty's shoulder. "Congrats."

"Thanks," she blushes. "I had no idea it was coming."

"Neither did we," Natasha chuckles. "Nobody here had any idea you'd be the first-"

"Ahem."

"Sorry. _Second _person to get married here."

"Yeah, we all thought it would be Juliet over here," Darcy gestures towards me.

"Hey!" I protest. "How come I'm Juliet? Not…I don't know, Jane?"

"Because she has kids. Plus she's more of a Beauty and the Beast type relationship." Darcy tells me. "Plus, your relationship with Clint is legitimately _perfect_, I swear. Like, out of a fairytale. And on show for everyone since you work with some of the nosiest people ever."

I tip my head to stare at the ceiling. "Why did I ever agree to this?"

"The job? You were tired of being unemployed," Natasha suggests, and I roll my eyes.

"Has Clint dropped any hints?" Darcy asks curiously.

"About?"

"I dunno…rings, houses, anything else like that?"

I sigh and curl my hands around my cup. "No. For the thousandth time, no. You'll be some of the first to know if something _does_ happen, okay?"

"Alright." Darcy raises her hands in surrender. "I'll drop it…but one more thing."

"What?"

"You sound frustrated – are you hoping for anything, or-?"

"Darcy."

"Right."


	22. Chapter 22

"Okay, I know you're all excited about your holidays, but we all need to settle down now so we can learn."

January 5th had rolled around and I was back in school – trying to teach twenty one kids, each filled to the brim with post-holiday sugar buzzes, excitement, and chatter.

And I was trying, with only somewhat success, to teach them math.

"Now, you carry the one over from the four to the five-" The ringing of my phone cuts me off. "Hold that thought."

I grab the landline off the receiver on my desk. "Hello?"

Fury's on the other end. _"Taylor, you're needed at the office. ASAP."_

"Did someone do something?"

"_No…just get down here, please."_

"Okay…" I glance up at my class. "I have nobody to watch-"

"_Phil's on his way up as we speak."_

"Okay, I'll be down as soon as he gets here."

"_Thank you."_

He hangs up and I set down the phone before turning back to the quiet class, a few whispers floating around about the nature and subject of the call. "Alright class, I'm going to have to go down to the office for a little bit to talk to Principal Fury. You will work on those math sheets while I'm gone, Mister Coulson is coming up here to watch you guys. He should be here any minute…"

I trail off as Phil Coulson himself steps through my doorway. "Right here."

"Right, everyone be good for Mister Coulson, I should be back soon."

I wave to my class as I walk out the door, nodding at Phil before heading towards the office at a brisk pace.

Darcy waves me in with a worried expression on her face and a small shake of her head saying I wasn't going to get an explanation from her.

I cautiously enter Fury's office and am greeted by Fury, Maria, and Ororo. "I'm here, now what's going on?"

"You may want to sit down, Taylor."

I blink, nod, and sink slowly into one of the chairs facing Fury's desk, getting a good look at their faces. Fury's face might as well be stone, Maria's face looks soft and reassuring, and Ororo has that muted sad look that they get when-

When they inform someone of a family tragedy or someone they love getting hurt/ "Who's hurt? I just saw Clint and my dad this morning, they were fine, is it-"

Maria steps forwards to put a hand on my shoulder and look me in the eyes. "Taylor, no. Barton's upstairs teaching about why snow melts and the water cycle and your father is trying to keep Myron Bilks focused on the lesson and not his game. They're still fine."

I nod with a relieved sigh. "Then who _is_ hurt?"

Maria looks down for a second before meeting my eyes again. "There was an accident this morning…Jane dropped the kids off and Thor was a little late getting to work. The roads were icy, snow was falling, and Thor…Thor got rear-ended by a tanker."

I gasp and blink a few times to keep from crying. "How b-bad?"

Maria glances over her shoulder at Fury, who sighs. "We don't know just yet, but he's been in surgery since about nine this morning."

I take a deep breath. "Jane?"

"At the hospital."

"And the kids don't know yet?"

He shakes his head. "They don't. Which is why we brought you down. I'm going to send Darcy up to get them and I need you to be the bearer of bad news."

I screw up my face and give him a gesture I would never make in front of my kids.

He just shrugs and punches a button on the phone on his desk. "Darcy."

"_Yeah."_

"I need you to go get Erik and Agnes from Taylor's room."

Darcy sighs. _"Alright, boss man…I hate this part of the job."_

"It isn't all rainbows and butterflies."

Darcy sighs again before the line disconnects.

Ororo turns to me. "You're taking the kids to the hospital and then listening to Jane. You're not expected back for the rest of the day, don't bother showing up with, like, an hour left. Phil's got the rest of your kids covered."

I nod silently. "My corvette can't fit the kids comfortably…"

Maria tosses me a pair of keys. "My Corolla can. I need to be at the hospital by the end of the day anyways, so just leave it wherever you park."

"Thanks." I pocket the keys until I have a chance to either use them or get them in my bag.

"Erik, stop poking your sister."

We all turn to see the office manager appear in the doorway, my bag slung over her shoulder and two redheads in tow.

Erik plops into the unoccupied chair while Agnes immediately heads for me. "Miss Stark, we didn't do anything!"

"I know, Agnes, you're not in trouble."

"Then why are we here?" Erik asks. "I almost had the answer to my math question!"

I give him a small grin. "Good for you. But…I need you two to know something."

"What?"

"You're safe, your mam is safe, and everyone's alive. Not matter what I tell you, I need you to remember that. Can you promise me that?"

Agnes instantly replies "Promise," with wide eyes while Erik mumbles, "Dad says promises mean a lot."

I wince inwardly. "They do, Erik, which is why I need you to promise that you know what I said was true."

He looks at me suspiciously but promises anyways.

"Okay," I take a deep breath, "You know how, when you play with toy cars, they crash together?"

Erik nods while Agnes looks up at me in confusion.

"Well, that happened for real this morning, and…your dad got hurt."

The both blink, silent for a moment as that sinks in. Agnes is the first to react; whimpering, which turns into full-out bawling, and I open my arms. She immediately runs to me, burying her head in my shoulder and wrapping her arms around my neck.

Erik looks shocked, surprised, and sad before settling on disbelieving. "No, he can't get hurt. Dad doesn't _get _hurt, not ever. He dropped a weight on his foot once and it was okay. He can't be hurt, he just _can't_."

Ororo crouches down to be on eye level with Erik. "You want to know something, Erik?"

He glares at her, but I can see the wet shine in his eyes. Ororo continues. "I once had a Dad too, and I thought he was the biggest, strongest, fastest person around. I thought he could never do anything _but _be tough. You want to know when I saw something different?"

"When?"

"The day my grandpa died. My dad cried like Agnes over there is right now. But the best part? He was okay later. I saw that he was still big, and strong, and fast, but not everyone can be tough all the time. So yes, your dad is hurt, Erik, I'm sorry."

Erik just stares, unblinking, at her for a few moments before his bottom lip quivers and a breathy sob escapes. He immediately runs over to his sister and I, and I shift slightly and nudge Agnes over so I can hold both sobbing siblings.

I rub a hand up and down Erik's back while I stroke Agnes's hair, whispering soothing words to the both of them.

_Go, _Fury mouths to me, _you need to see him as much as they do. And call Darcy._

I nod and slowly detach Erik from me. I try the same with Agnes, but she's stuck like glue, so I just shift her onto my hip and stand up, shoulder my bag. I take Erik's hand in my non-occupied one and lead them both out to the parking lot.

I quickly locate Maria's car, in the _Reserved for Assistant Principal _spot_. _I let go of Erik briefly to dig the correct set of keys out of my bag. I pause after unlocking the car, looking down at the boy by my side. "Do you still use a booster seat?"

He sniffles. "Yeah, so does Aggie."

I sigh and hitch Agnes higher on my hip. "Well, I don't have one. So, just for the ride to the hospital, you won't be using one. Okay?"

Erik's eyes light up briefly at the prospect of a new adventure. "Okay!"

The corners of my lips quirk up as I help him in the backseat, making sure he buckles up, before prying Agnes off me and putting her in the other side of the backseat before sliding into the driver's sea and starting the car towards the hospital.

I park the car next to what I recognize as Jane's minivan, sending Maria a quick text of _fourth row, third one down. Next to Jane's van, _before hopping out and unbuckling the kids.

Agnes immediately demands to be carried again and I grad Erik by the hand, slowly working our way towards the front doors of the hospital.

Once inside, I make a beeline for the front desk. "I'm here for Thor Odinson."

The nurse on duty looks over his glasses at me. "Are you family?"

"No."

"Then you can't see him. All you can know is he's in surgery, go have a seat."

I sigh and lead Erik over to the hard plastic chairs by the wall. I direct him towards one and sit down next to him, Agnes still on my lap.

I sigh and look at the two redheads now somewhat in my care, glance at the hospital hallway, and decide to follow Fury's advice and call Darcy.

"_Darcy Lewis."_

"Hey, Darcy."

There's a pause, and then _"Is he okay?"_

"I don't know, they'll only tell me that he's still in surgery. Fury told me to call you."

"_Oh...yeah. I live a few houses away from Thor and company. Coming to the hospital now, helping you look after the kids."_

"Okay, thanks. Jane needs all the help she can get. Oh, and…Darcy?"

"_Yeah?"_

"When am I allowed to bawl like the six year old in my lap?"

"_I don't know about you, but after the kids go to bed, I'm curling up with a body pillow, a box of tissues or two, and a sad movie."_

"Can I join you?"

"_You have a boyfriend. That opens up a whole new world of pleasurable activities."_

I run a hand through my hair. "Not if I'm stuck at the Odinson's with two six year olds."

She harrumphs at me. _"I'm a few minutes away. Bye."_

"See you." I sigh and pull the phone away from my ear, ending the call.

"Who was that?" I turn to see Erik staring up at me.

"You know Miss Darcy? She's coming to help watch you two."

He crosses his arms. "We don't need a babysitter."

"Yeah," I sigh, "But you need someone to watch you."

He nods. "I guess." He leans over to put his head on my shoulder.

I sigh, finish my sentence mainly In my head. "We all need someone right now."

* * *

Three hours later, Agnes is still passed out on my lap, Erik is splayed out in Darcy's lap, and Jane still hasn't made an appearance.

"What's a word for having an impaired immune response? 17 across."

I look over at the newspaper Darcy had found. "Try immunocompromised."

"Thanks, genius."

I nod and shift again in my seat, being careful not to disturb Agnes.

"Guys!"

Darcy and I both look up to see Jane jogging out of the hospital room. "Jane!" we both whisper.

"Thank you so much," she pants, "for waiting."

"No problem. Plus," I wave at the kids sleeping soundly on our legs, "it's not like we could move."

She grins softly at her sleeping children. "Well, I have a status update."

"And?"

"Extreme concussion, broken arm, broken ribs, punctured lung, dislocated hip, broken femur," she sighs. "But they don't need to know that yet. They need to go home, you two need rest and to get out of these chairs."

"Um," I bite my lip, "I can go home…"

Jane tilts her head. "If you really want to, you can. But…the kids love you, you know. I trust you to take care of them for eight hours each day, and they need familiarity."

I sigh and drop my eyes to the six year old girl currently clinging to my sweater. "Fine. I'm going to need your address and a way to get to your house. I drove here in my boss's car."

Jane gives a small grin and scribbles something on a piece of paper, handing it to me. "My address. And Darcy has my keys. I can drive her car home."

Darcy throws an arm around my shoulders. "I got you covered."

I shrug her off with a grin. "Rules?"

Jane shrugs. "No soda before bed, bed by eight, baths before bed. Not being too hard on them, though."

"Got it." I shift Agnes onto my hip and stand up slowly, Darcy doing the same with Erik.

"I'll call with updates," Jane promises, "Thanks again."

I grin at her over my shoulder as I walk out to the parking lot.

Darcy and I eventually locate the minivan, load the sleeping kids into their booster seats, and climb into the front of the car.

"Can we avoid Jackson Blvd.?"

"Sure," Darcy whispers, "Not that they'll know."

"But we will. I will."

She nods.

We pull up to the written address about ten minutes later, stopping in front of a two-sory colonial style home. "This it?"

"This is it. Home of the Odinsons."

I unbuckle and hop out, going around to get Agnes, who was blinking sleep out of her eyes. "Wha'?"

"Hey Agnes, we're home."

"I had a dream," she yawns, "where my daddy was in a car crash…" She blinks, seemingly seeing me for the first time. "Was it a dream?"

I sigh and let her climb back into my arms, turning to walk up the driveway. "Sorry, Agnes."

She just sighs into my shoulder.

Darcy unlocks the front door and Erik runs in and disappears into the house. I set Agnes down and follow Darcy into the kitchen.

"What time is it?"

She glances at the clock over the sink. "About two. Late lunch?"

"For everyone." I nod and start digging through the pantry. "This good?"

Darcy looks over my shoulder. "Microwave Mac n' Cheese? Sure. I'll get the juices ready."

I nod and stick the cups in the microwave. "Do we go get them or do we just call?"

"Judging by the noise every morning, we just yell." Darcy takes a deep breath. "ERIK! AGNES! LUNCH TIME!"

Footsteps thunder down the stairs and Erik appears, holding a game controller, followed by Agnes, who was hugging a stuffed unicorn. "What's for lunch?"

"Mac and cheese," I look at Darcy, "And…"

"Gatorade or apple juice?" she holds up two plastic cups.

"Gatorade!" "Apple juice!"

Darcy nods and fills each cup with a different drink, setting them on the table just as I dish up their meal.

We wave them to their seats and stand back as they dig in. Darcy passes me a bag of chips.

Agnes looks up at the sound of crunching. "Hey, how come you get chips?"

"Because…" I glance at Darcy. "We're adults. You can eat chips too when you're adults."

"No fair!"

"Sorry." I shrug. "Now, if you're done, you can go play until bed."

"While we field calls from bosses and other worrywarts," Darcy grumbles under her breath.

I ignore her as I wave the kids out of the kitchen just as my phone starts ringing. I turn to grab it, but Darcy beats me to the punch, grabbing it and hitting the _answer call _button.

"Hey there Romeo!" I groan and reach for my phone, but she steps out of the way. "Yeah, she's here. No, I did not steal – I didn't! Really! No…I'm dragging this out…questions…yes…so what-"

I lunge and practically tackle her to get my phone back, scrambling backwards as soon as it re-enters my hands. "Hello there."

"_There you are…that was weird."_

"No, that was Darcy."

"_Same difference. How are you?"_

"Currently? Babysitting and waiting for updates."

"_Any word on the big guy?"_

I sigh and repeat Jane's words from earlier. ""Extreme concussion, broken arm, broken ribs, punctured lung, dislocated hip, and broken femur."

I can almost hear his wince. _"Wow, time to buy stock in get well cards. Hang in there."_

"You buy me a kitten poster, and I swear…" I leave the threat hanging as listen to Clint's laugh on the other end.

"_Gotta go update our coworkers. Bye."_

"_Bye."_

I end the call before we can go all _no, you hang up _teenager on each other (been there, done that).

"Miss Stark!"

Both mine and Darcy's heads snap towards the stairs, where we see Agnes bounding down with Erik and her heels. "Miss Stark! Miss Darcy! Erik broke Sparkly!"

I kneel down to inspect the bundle in her hands, wincing as I realize that the head and the hooves are in different hands, a foot apart. Darcy sees this too, because she grimaces and leads Erik over to the other side of the room.

"Hey, Agnes, dry those tears." I wipe a thumb under her eyes. "What happened?"

"I was playing in my room, and Erik was at the door. He…he said I needed to stop playing with my horsies, 'cause Daddy was hurt, I need to act like a big girl. We played tug-o-war for a little bit and then he just made this ripping sound…" she holds out the pieces.

I sigh and take the mutilated stuffed animal as Darcy leads Erik back over. "Erik, do you have something to say?"

He nods. "I'm sorry, Aggie. I didn't mean to rip Sparky."

Agnes hugs her brother. "It's okay, Rikky."

I coo at the siblings as Darcy leans in to hiss in my ear. "Please tell me you know how to fix this."

"Surprisingly, yeah, I do." I inspect the pieces. "I'm going to need stuffing, a needle, and some white thread."

"Got it."

* * *

7:30 rolls around soon enough and I clean up our dinner of Hamburger Helper while Darcy leads Agnes upstairs for her bath. "Erik, you can bathe yourself, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

I bite my lips as I ponder a PG, non-scarring version of my answer. "Because…girls aren't supposed to see boys in the bathroom."

He looks confused. "But my mommy helps me take a bath all the time."

"Mommies are different. Now, make sure you dry that completely."

He nods and returns to wiping the plate he was working on.

"Done!" Darcy clambers down the stairs, Agnes on her hip in pink pajamas. "Now, Agnes, Miss Stark's gonna put you to bed while I pick out Erik's pajamas."

I take her load while she leads Erik back upstairs and towards his room.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." I hitch her higher on my hip. "Wanna show me your room?"

She nods eagerly and I spend about ten minutes being shown ponies (Rainbow, Cloudy, and Sunshine) and a multitude of pink furniture before I finally get her tucked in beneath her pink covers.

"Will you sing to me?" she yawns as she snuggles against her pillow.

I blink. "What?"

"Mommy sings to me sometimes," she sighs. "I really like it. Please?"

I take one look at her big, brown puppy eyes and my resolve melts. "Alright." I crouch down by her bed. "What do you want to hear?"

"Anything."

I nod and take a deep breath, searching for a soothing tune. I settle on one I heard on the radio the week before.

"_Your little hand's wrapped around my finger_

_And it's so quiet in the world tonight_

_Your little eyelids flutter cause you're dreaming_

_So I tuck you in, turn on your favorite night light_

_To you everything's funny, you got nothing to regret_

_I'd give all I have, honey_

_If you could stay like that."_

Agnes gives me a sleepy smile.

"_Oh darling, don't you ever grow up_

_Don't you ever grow up, just stay this little_

_Oh darling, don't you ever grow up_

_Don't you ever grow up, it could stay this simple_

_I won't let nobody hurt you, won't let no one break your heart_

_And no one will desert you_

_Just try to never grow up, never grow up."_

I look down to see the six year old completely asleep. I slowly stand and back out of the room, softly closing the door before creeping downstairs.

"That was pretty." Darcy remarks from the couch where she was watching _Top Chef._

"Thanks." I grab the unicorn, needle, thread, and stuffing off the end table, settling next to Darcy and beginning to re-stuff and re-sew the decapitated unicorn.

Darcy watches me. "You okay?"

I sigh and pause in my needling. "I…I'm not sure. Thor's my friend too."

"I know," she nods and blinks a few times. "We all think he's invincible, you know?"

"His kids look at him like he hung the moon _and _stars," I sigh, "And I just told her to never grow up."

She gives me a sad smile. "You're an amazing teacher, and not a bad babysitter either."

"Why thank you." I flip the unicorn over to sew the other side. "You're not bad either."

She give me a bit of a happier smile now. "Jane said she should be home around-"

She's cut off by the front door opening, and we both look up to see Jane enter her home, looking tired, red-eyed, and generally frazzled.

"Hey." I stand from the couch. "How's he doing?"

"He just got out of surgery about fifteen minutes ago," she sighs. "How were they?"

"Good."

"Well," Darcy waves at the stuffed unicorn, "There was one bump, but we handled it."

Jane blinks and turns to me. "Miss Stark-"

"Jane." I cut her off. "I just held your crying daughter, sang her to sleep, and repaired her decapitated unicorn. Please call me Taylor."

Jane beams. "Okay, Taylor. Thank you, how can I pay-"

"Don't you dare." I look her in the eyes. "It was the least I could do. Thor's my friend too."

She nods and gives me a quick hug. "Want Darcy to drive you home?"

"Well I don't have a car or directions." I shrug. "Sure."

Darcy grabs my bag and waves for me to follow.

I glance up the stairs one last time before following her out.

That went far better than I expected.


	23. Chapter 23

Clint's POV

I huff as I check my watch and discover that I have now been sitting in my car for fifteen minutes.

Sitting in my car which was parked in front of the Stark household and, judging by the car in the driveway, without Taylor being home.

I glance at the front door again. _Get a hold of yourself, Barton! _I scold myself, _you need to do this._

_But he's scary! _I argue.

_He is, but you need to get this over with._

I sigh. Now I'm arguing with myself. This is going to go _great_.

_But it's not going anywhere right now. _

"Shut up," I mutter. I take a deep breath and open my car door, approaching front door before I can regret what I'm doing and turn tail and run.

I take a deep breath, blink once, and knock on the door. I grin slightly at the muffled _thud _and the hollered "Coming!" before the door opens to reveal Tony.

"Oh, hey Clint," Tony pants. "Taylor's not here, by the way, she's at Betty's helping with wedding planning."

I drop my eyes to my shoes before lifting them back up. "I know. I-"

He narrows his eyes until they're tiny, green, menacing slits. "Are you going to rummage through her drawers for her underwear and bras? Because if you _are_-"

I shake my head and try really hard not to roll my eyes. "What? No, no I'm – I'm not going to rummage through anything. I wanted to talk to you, actually."

He just gives me a strange look before shrugging. "Okay then."

I follow him in the house and sink onto the couch as he rummages through his fridge. "Want anything to drink?"

"Do you have Sprite?"

"Yeah." He pulls out a can and slides it towards me as he sits down in the armchair across from me. "How's the house coming?"

I grin. "I should be ready to move in about two weeks."

"Good." He nods. "Good. But you didn't come for small talk. What's up?"

"It's about Taylor," I sigh. "It's, um, I…"

He raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I…I wanted to propose."

He blinks at me. "What?"

"I said I wanted to propose. I came to ask for her hand."

"Okay, first: thank you. Second: what brought this on?"

"Valentine's Day, actually." I blink. "And Bruce."

He tilts his head. "So you're jumping on a bandwagon?"

"No. I've had this planned since the Thompson conference."

"So you are hesitating?"

"No." I scowl then sigh. "You aren't making this easier."

"Okay." He leans back and crosses his arms. "Why her?"

"That's easier. She's beautiful-"

"-as are half of our coworkers."

"But they aren't her." I insist. "She's funny."

"And so is Darcy."

"Still _not her_."

"Okay, so what makes _them_ not _her_?"

"Not entirely sure, actually." I run a hand through my hair. "It's just…the way her eyes shine when she sees the possibility for a new idea, or how she pays attention to every single one of her kids – even the two siblings someone different would have demanded be transferred. Plus, she went to Iowa to meet my family, even though she didn't want to, because it made me happy."

He looks surprised. "Wait, she didn't want to go? She made it sound like she had an awesome time."

I snort. "Yeah, maybe after Thanksgiving. Before that she had to sit through my mother asking when we were getting married."

"How did you know she was upset?"

I shrug. "I just can. I can usually tell when she's upset even when she's not willing to admit it, even to herself."

He nods. "I would say that's a bad thing, but then I would be hypocrite. That's good, that you can do that. I've been told, by the way, that life with a Stark in it is never boring. There's a lot of things even you do not know, Barton, and you're going to have to just roll with the punches, take it in stride, other analogies I cannot think of at this time…"

I chuckle quietly. "She's showed up at my house out of the blue several times."

"So that's where she goes," he sighs, almost to himself. "Novelty fades fast when you're married."

I want to ask him how he knows that, but I really do not want to upset the guy that my future teeters on. "They say it's the little things that keep you falling in love."

He rears back to look at me. "My god, you sound like a Viagra commercial."

I huff. "I don't need much interest in that yet."

He shudders. "Did _not_ need to know that."

"Sorry."

He stares at me for a moment before shifting to pull something out of his back pocket. It's his wallet; he flips it open to pull out a picture and set it on the table in front of me. The picture is old, yellowed, with slightly wrinkled edges, but it's what the photo is of that catches my eye.

The photo depicts a younger Taylor mid-laugh with her arms slung around her dad's neck from behind. She looks like she's telling a younger Tony something, her head tilted slightly to look down at him. Tony is also smiling, a true, unguarded, toothy smile.

"She was five years old in that picture." Tony sounds nostalgic. "I was thirty. We were at the park, that was taken by the paparazzi."

"She hasn't lost any of her looks."

I think he nods. "She's all I had for nineteen years. For nearly two decades it was just the two of us against the world. And then she met you."

I stay quiet.

"I didn't like you, of course, but after I watched you two interact I realized that I wasn't mad that you were dating her, I was mad that I wasn't the only special guy in her life anymore. It's like I heard in a song once; _I prayed that she'd find you someday, but it's still hard to give her away._ Every dad wants his little girl to find her Prince Charming, but we don't realize that Cinderella has to get to the ball first."

We both chuckle dryly. "You might understand one day, if you're doing…this," he waves a hand between us before falling quiet and just looking at me.

And looking at me.

And looking-

I cough.

He blinks. "Okay."

"What?"

"I said, okay. You can propose. Will she say yes? No one knows."

"Thank you."

"But, uh, you remember the shovel talk?"

"Which one?"

"Ha, ha, Barton. Mine."

"You said you would strap a warhead to my neck, fire it into the air, then blow it – and me – up."

He nods. "I can still do that, you know. Just amplify that by one hundred if you marry her."

"Got it."

"And expect a whole new round of threats."

"I've been expecting those for a while."

"Can I have a few stipulations?"

I blink at him. "Sure?"

"One: if you have a garage or basement, turn it into a workshop so she doesn't have to come here every single time she wants to work."

"Already planning that."

"Two: I _will _walk her down the aisle."

"No duh."

"Three: make sure she's happy, alright? I'd say treat her like a princess, but she would hurt me for that."

"Ball gown aren't her thing, but happy I can more than do."

He chuckles. "Do you have a ring?"

I nod and pull a small black box out of my back pocket, handing it to him along with the picture. He studies the ring for a moment before nodding and giving it back to me. "Nice."

"Thanks."

"Any date planned?"

I give him a sly look. "Maybe."

He just shrugs. "And I'm assuming you want me to not tell her you were ever here?"

"If you would."

"Sure, wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

I check my watch. "I better go before she gets back. Thank you so much, Tony."

"No," he grins, "Thank _you_, Clint."


	24. Chapter 24

The final bell rings at three, like clockwork, on a seemingly normal Friday in February and I walk the kids down to the bus ramp like I have for the past six months of the school year; checking and zipping backpacks, tying shoes, and putting books back where they belong.

I then return to my classroom, kick my heels off under my desk, dig a red pen out of my desk, and alternate between grading papers, doing the first stages of preparation for end of year testing, watching for updates on Thor, and helping Betty wedding plan.

I respond to a few emails form worried parents, schedule a few more calls, check on Jessie's after school program and her progress within it, and send out a memo about Erik and Agnes's expected behavior under 'special circumstances'.

I jump, my knees hitting my desk, as my phone suddenly chimes. I scowl and rub my sore kneecaps as I dig for it one-handedly in my bag.

**Clint: **meet me in front of the school!

I frown slightly at the screen and just sit there holding my phone for a minute before I shrug, stick my phone into my back pocket, and slip my shoes back on.

I lock up my room behind me and head for the parking lot, half my brain wondering what Clint wants or if someone just set something on fire…again.

I shove open the door, shivering slightly in the cool but not cold half-spring air. A quick scan of the parking lot shows Clint, leaning against the back of his car in the area where cars pause to dispose kids in the morning. And he's wearing a stupidly big grin.

"Did someone set something on fire again?" I call as I walk over to him. "Because then you should have told me to bring a fire extinguisher."

He shakes his head. "There are no fires," he assures me. "I want to show you something, come on."

I make a sour face. "Does that something involve walking? Because I'm currently wearing heels and _my _heels hate me."

He just smiles and holds out a pair of my Converse and some rolled up socks. "You're welcome."

I grin and peck him on the cheek, grabbing the shoes as I go around to climb in the passenger seat.

Clint shuts the door on the driver's side and starts the engine as I give my feet some room to breathe before I put on my socks. "Do you know what today is?"

"Um…Friday?"

"No. Well, yeah, it is, but more than that?" He looks over at me expectantly.

"Well, it's still February, so it's not your birthday," I begin ticking off fingers. "Or my birthday, or my dad's birthday, don't think it's any of your family's birthdays or anniversaries, it isn't our anniversary…I give up. What is it?"

Clint sighs and looks like he wants to bang his head on the steering wheel. "Valentine's Day. Today is the 14th."

I stare at him for a moment. "Well I forgot the flowers."

He grins and shakes his head again. "No need. And I wasn't really expecting you to remember, you know, you forgot last year."

I focus on lacing my left shoe.

"And Easter last year."

I pull my laces tighter.

"You almost forgot Christmas too-"

"You're not helping," I finish with my other shoe and look up at him. "Where are we going?"

He gives me a mysterious look. "To a surprise."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Of course not."

"Is it pink?"

"Why would it be pink?"

I shrug and lean back into my seat. "I do not know. But carry on."

"So glad I have your permission," he drawls as he flicks on his turn signal.

I just roll my eyes and fiddle with the radio knobs.

"How's Thor doing?"

I give a half smile. "He should be going home with a casted arm, leg, and strapped ribs within the month."

"And Jane?"

"Stretched thin," I sigh.

"Aw," he frowns. "Is there anything we – as the school – can do?"

"I'll let you know." I shrug, and he nods as we turn into a neighborhood. A familiar neighborhood.

I frown slightly as we turn into the driveway of a house that I've seen before. "Clint, this is your house, what are we doing here?"

He just shakes his head. "Come on."

I watch his back for a second before shaking my head and following him inside.

The house hasn't changed much, if at all, since I last saw it on Christmas. It's still barren of any furniture.

"You haven't moved in yet? Not even one piece of furniture?"

He shakes his head and busies himself with something on the counter. "The lease on my old house isn't up until March 1st."

I set my hands on my hips. "Don't we teach that procrastination never pays?"

He rolls his eyes as he walks back over to me, in the middle of the living room. "Yes, mother."

I just scrunch up my face as he hands me a card with a flourish. "Happy Valentine's Day," he explains as I take it, stroking a finger on the pink ribbon running down the front near the spine of the card, "Sorry about the pink."

I glance up at him as I flip the card open. It's got the usual – sparkles, rhyming lovey mush, dancing teddy bears and/or lambs – but what makes my heart skip a beat is the fact that on the inside of the card, the ribbon is tied in a small bow around a key. A house key.

"I have two questions." Clint takes a deep breath. "One: will you move in with me? This is by no means a one person bachelor pad."

I nod numbly, not taking my eyes off the card.

"And two…" he pauses to take another shaky breath, and I look up at him, expecting an inquiry about whether I snore of if I leave my socks everywhere.

Not for him to drop to one knee right there in the middle of his – _our _– house.

He takes a deep breath and wipes his hands on his jeans. "You know, this is going to sound really clichéd, but I don't give a crap as of right now."

I stare dumbly.

"Taylor," he sighs, "I can't begin to describe you. You're beautiful, brilliant, funny, loving, determined, and selfless – even if you like to pretend that you aren't. You're not my first girlfriend, but you _are _my last. Because the second that you walked in behind your dad two years ago, I was smitten and falling helplessly head over heels. And I keep doing so every single time you kiss me, smile, or really just do anything else ever. I'm not going to copy Bruce and say you're my other half because you are not. My other half would never be this perfect."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black box, cracking it open to reveal a wide-banded silver ring with a sapphire set in the middle and two inset diamonds, one on either side. "So, my second question is…Taylor Stark, will you marry me?"

I blink and gape, waiting for my usually NASCAR speed brain to catch up. I can't stop the tears from flooding my cheeks, though.

Clint's eyes glitter. "What's the matter, genius? Cat gout your tongue?"

I finally gulp down enough air to choke out a "Yes."

Clint grins as he stands, hugging me around my wait and swinging me in a circle before giving me a searing kiss.

I give a small huffing laugh as I clasp my hands behind his neck and burrow my head into his shirt, both of us just standing there for a minute before Clint steps back to slip the ring on my finger, giving me a second to admire it before taking my hand and leading me back to the car.

"So, we have two weeks to move in?"

He shrugs. "Just the appliances and basic amenities, we can do the rest after that. And I have the number of a moving company in the area."

I nod before a thought occurs to me and I thud my head against the headrest, causing Clint to look over at me. "What?"

"I just realized Darcy was right, as was Natasha…and Jane…Carol…and Betty too…dang, I have some perceptive friends!"

Clint – my fiancé, oh my god – laughs, then cocks his head. "Do you think anyone's still at school?"

I glance at the clock on the dashboard – it's around 6pm. "Maybe…why?"

"Do you want to tell them now or tomorrow sometime?"

"Whenever, really."

He glances at the quickly darkening sky. "Tomorrow. They're probably out with either a date or in watching romantic movies with a piece of pie."

I nod. "Speaking of a date…you want to grab dinner from that Thai place down the road?"

"Sure. You're buying."

I snort. "You're chivalrous."

"And you're rich."

I roll my eyes, giving him a mock glare at the line we both know won't work.

"I just bought a house!" he protests.

"Which I now help to mortgage!"

"And a ring."

"…fine."

* * *

**You guys probably expected this after the last chapter.**

**Here's the links to both rings (minus the spaces):**

**Betty's ring: www. haloengagement wp-content /uploads /2012 /02 /emerald-engagement- rings -3-stone .jpg **

**Taylor's ring: images10 .newegg productimage/ A1WW_ 1 _20131008190038240 .jpg**


	25. Chapter 25

"Taylor, slow down!"

"Come on, hurry up!" I call over my shoulder, bouncing on my feet with my hands in the pockets of my black pea coat as my dad got out of the car.

We - Clint and I - had asked everyone to gather in a nearby park, specifically a little circle concrete area, to announce the big news. I could see Clint standing by one the benches, Bruce and Betty approaching, and Natasha's truck pulling up.

"Hello," I walk up next to my fiancé. "How're you doing?"

"Good." He glances at my dad. _Does he know?_ he signs.

_No,_ I sign, _I am a master of discretion._

He just rolls his eyes and leans in for a kiss.

"Hey lovebirds!" We turn to see Carol walking up with Darcy on her heels. "Want to explain why you dragged us all out here on a Saturday morning?"

"Patience, young Jedi," I sigh. "Seriously, wait, we need everyone to be here. Hey Darcy."

"Taylor," Darcy squints at me, "You seem antsy."

I just shrug and watch as Steve and Bucky arrive in the same car, mentally noting to question them about it later. "Over here, guys!"

"We can see you!" Steve assures me as he and Bucky jog up to our gathering crowd.

"Okay, let's see who's here." I lean back slightly. "Dad, Natasha, Carol, Darcy, Bruce, Betty, Steve, Bucky…is that everyone?"

"I think so…" Clint looks at me. "Unless Phil's coming?"

Clint scratches the back of his neck. "I may have forgotten to invite him."

"It's alright, I can tell him on Monday. So that is everyone?"

"Yep."

"Okay." I clap my hands. "Guys!"

Everybody looks at me curiously.

I clear my throat "So, as most of us probably know, yesterday was Valentine's Day. I don't know what the rest of you did, and I don't want to know, but I suddenly need to move a bunch of furniture, redirect my mail, and give Natasha, Carol, and Darcy twenty bucks."

Everyone stares at me. Natasha is the first to speak up. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I probably am."

Her face splits into a grin, and Carol and Darcy follow suit.

"Um…" Steve interrupts, "What?"

"I know you all probably saw this coming a mile away," I sigh, "but Clint and I moved in together."

Everyone grins and congratulates us, my dad just grinning at me. "Wait a minute," Natasha looks apprehensive. "You wouldn't drag us out here to tell us that. What else is up?"

I pause as I weigh the options of answering truthfully or retorting with an innuendo.

I finally decide by drawing my hands out of my pockets, letting the sapphire on the ring catch the light. "Guess who got engaged last night?"

I barely have time to brace for impact before I'm practically tackled in a hug from Darcy. "Oh my god, oh my god, this is so awesome, so happy for you, oh my god…"

I wriggle out of her grasp and cautiously step away from her excited rambling, only to be tapped on the shoulder and wrapped in much gentler hugs from Natasha, Betty, and Carol. "We really did see this coming."

"Really? I couldn't tell," I deadpan as I glance over to see my dad and my fiancé shaking hands. "But thanks."

"We need to go out for a celebratory lunch!" I look up to see my dad looking at the group with a determined gleam in his eye. "There's that new Mexican place on Hendrickson."

"La Comida? The place with the amazing enchiladas?"

He nods. "That place. We have two engagements to celebrate now."

"Actually," Bruce calls over, "Betty and I already celebrated with some…other…activities."

My dad rolls his eyes and scrunches up his face. "Did not need to know that, Bruce."

"And now I have mental images," I add with a groan.

"I could give you better ones." Clint breathes into my ear.

"Not right now." I hiss back, then raise my voice again. "Mexican sounds good to me."

"Good!" my dad claps his hands. "La Comida in half an hour, people! Be there or be square. Like Fury."

The rest of us roll our eyes as we begin to disperse to our cars. I turn and kiss Clint. "I need to talk to my dad," I whisper, and he nods and kisses me again before backing away.

I jog to catch up to my dad as he's climbing in his Mustang, and he just waves me around to the passenger side. Once I'm in and seated, he starts the car and pulls away from the park.

I stay quiet for a few minutes, fiddling with my ring. "So."

"So?" My dad looks over at me.

"What do you think about…?" I wave a hand towards my ring.

"Are you kidding? I'm happy for you. Really happy."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You saw this coming." It's not a question.

"Of course I did," he smirks. "Birdbrain came to talk to me a few weeks ago."

I tilt my head and widen my eyes. "He asked you for my hand?"

"He would be dead had he not." He says resolutely. "Here we are."

He parks the car in front of the restaurant that looks straight out of México, and we get out and meet the forming group by the front of the restaurant. I fall in step with Clint as my dad goes over to talk to Bruce and Betty about science-y things.

"Everything okay?"

I look over at Clint. "Yeah, all's ok. Making sure he was okay with it."

"He is," Clint assures me.

I nod as he holds open the restaurant door. "Thanks."

"Well," he shrugs, "I didn't want to die."

I just shake my head and two menus, handing one to him and flipping open the second one.

"So how's the wedding planning coming?" Steve asks as he and Bucky find seats at our table.

"Non-existent," I sigh as Betty perks up, "Great!"

Steve glances between the two of us as he sits down. "Betty?"

"Is anyone doing anything during spring break? If everyone's off, we should be able to do the wedding then."

Dad, Natasha, Carol, and Darcy all shake their heads. I glance at Clint. "Besides moving in, are we doing anything?"

He picks at his napkin. "Check back with me after I call my parents. We may get dragged down to Iowa."

"We can do both," I look at Betty, "When in the week?"

"Anytime, really. We're probably doing it in Patton Park."

"Oh, pretty!" Darcy squeals. "Have you decided on a bridal party yet?"

Betty snorts. "No."

"Neither of us," Bruce sighs.

I decide on ordering the cheese and bean enchiladas and slide my menu to the middle of the table. "There's no rush."

Betty nods and squeezes Bruce's hand. "True. First I need to do state assessments and end of course exams."

All of us groan. I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Don't remind me. Why do six and seven year olds need to be tested by the state?"

Carol shrugs. "Don't ask me. I have kindergarten graduation to organize. Taylor, are you and Sam still going to be there?"

"On the other side of the stage, just like always."

"Good." She nods and flags down a waiter. "Let's order already."

My dad holds up a fork. "Let them eat tortillas!"


	26. Chapter 26

I cannot kill one of my students. I cannot kill one of my students. I cannot kill one of my students.

That was what was circulating through my head as I dragged Erik Odinson by the sleeve down to the office.

Earlier that morning, I had been cycling through the room, offering one-on-one help as the kids worked on a reading and vocabulary worksheet. My attention was diverted from Sean and explaining why comic books weren't _really _books (and he couldn't use them as such) by a chocked cry coming from the back of the room.

I snap my head over to see Sammy, a timid girl with a lot of freckles, big glasses, and a love of science – biology, to be specific – staring down at a wrinkled piece of paper while Erik watched her, snickering. I immediately make my way across the room, sending Sammy a reassuring grin as I slipped the paper out from underneath her.

'FAT NERD LOSER' is scrawled in big, offending letters, and I watch as Erik slips a pencil into his desk. Sammy glances up at me, over to Erik, before whimpering again and sprinting out of the room.

I sigh and quickly scan the room for Agnes, Erik's usual partner in crime, before remembering that she was home sick today. As it is, I slip the paper into my pocket, grab Erik's arm, and drag him into the hall, pulling out my phone. "Phil."

"_Taylor, what's up?"_

"I need you to come watch my kids for a bit, please say you're not busy."

"_I'm not, I'll be down in a minute. What's going on?"_

"Just one kid crying and another being inexplicably cruel."

"_Okay then…be right down."_

"Thank you."

He ends the call as I begin to pace, always keeping one eye on Erik.

"What-"

"I wouldn't talk right now."

"But-"

I pause to stare at him. "What did I say about talking?"

He crosses his arms, pushes out his lip, and leans back against the wall.

I look up as I hear footsteps approaching, giving a relieved exhale as I see Phil. "You need to watch those," I direct, pointing towards my classroom door, "While I take this one to the office."

"Got it," he nods, looks between me and Erik, and just shakes his head before entering my classroom.

I take Erik by the sleeve again and start towards the office.

"Ow, hey, that hurts!" he whines. "I'm gonna call my dad, and he's gonna beat you up!"

_Yeah, _I roll my eyes_, because he's in such good shape._

I steamroll into the office, past whoever was subbing for Darcy since she was at home with Agnes, and into Fury's office.

"Taylor, you can't-" Fury starts to say something, but the he stops, looks at the fire in my eyes and the arm in my hand and waves us into the office. "What happened?"

I slide the wrinkled paper across the desk and cross my arms as he reads it. "Sammy Reynolds is now crying in the bathroom by the kindergarten rooms. Can you send someone down?"

He nods and punches a button on the phone on his desk, "Ororo."

"_Fury, what do you need?"_

"I need you down to the bathrooms by Banner's room. Sammy Reynolds is having a bad day."

"_Aw, poor kid. I'll be right down."_

"Good." He releases the button and turns back to us. "Sit down."

"I'll stand, thanks." I whisper, and Fury nods, turning his attention to Erik. "Why?"

"'Cause it's true," he grumbles.

"It is not true," Fury counters, "it was mean. Why did you do it?"

Erik stays quiet, so I crouch down next to him. "Erik, if you don't tell us, I'm going to have to call your mom. And I don't want to do that, because your mother is a nice woman and she's already working so hard with you, your sister, her job, and taking care of your dad."

He flinches at the last word, and I sigh. "That's it, isn't it? This has something to do with your dad. What's bothering you, Erik?"

He stays silent, but I can see him weighing his options as he holds my gaze.

"Come on, the only people here are me and Principal Fury, and we won't tell anyone," I coax gently.

"I'm tired of crying!" He suddenly blurts out, kicking the leg of his chair. "Okay? I'm tired of being sad and mopey all the time. Everyone's so bummed out that Dad got hurt, and nobody does anything but be all sad all the time, and I'm tired of it!"

"There are other ways of being not sad, you know that?"

He looks up at me. "Yeah, but I don't know how…"

"Well, you can be happy by showing your mom that drawing of that rainbow and clover you made the other day in art to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. Mr. Rogers said it was really good, I bet it would make your mom happy too."

"It would?"

"Sure. And you can get excited about spring break coming up, I know I am. That's not sad, right?"

His eyes light up. "Right."

I nod. "Now, how about you sit here with Principal Fury while I go see if Sammy's okay."

Fury and Erik both nod, so I walk back out of the office and towards the kindergarten rooms, making a pit stop in my room to grab an eyeglass case out of my bag.

When I arrive at the bathrooms, I see Ororo standing outside the girl's side with her arms crossed. "Finally."

I glance at the stalls. "How's she doing?"

"She won't come out. I hope you have an idea."

"I do." I nod, going to stand in front of the stall where I can see the tips of her Converse peeking out. "Sammy?"

"Go away."

"How about you come out instead?"

"Are you going to call me fat too?" she snaps.

"Of course not, Sammy. I have something to show you that might make you feel better."

I step back as I hear the distinctive metal-on-metal click of the lock being slid back. Sammy opens the door a crack. "What?"

"Come on out here, I promise it's only me and Ms. Munroe out here."

I back up against the wall of the bathroom as she exits fully. "Now what?"

I kneel down next to her. "Erik didn't mean what he said."

"He did," she insists.

"Not the fat loser parts. You aren't fat or a loser."

"But what about the nerd part?"

I chuckle. "That's a good thing. Do you know what a nerd is?"

She shakes her head.

"A really, really smart person."

"Like Mr. Stark?"

I blink at her. "Um, sure. You know, I was like you once."

She looks me up and down, the does a double take. "You? But you're so pretty."

"Yep. Me. I have proof." I hand her the eyeglass case, watching as she pries it open and pulls out the thick black frames I don't wear that often. "These are yours?"

"Yes, they're mine. Weird, right? I wear a thing called contacts, they make it so I don't have to wear those. You can ask your parents about them, okay?"

"Okay!"

I take my glasses back and set the back into their case. "Good. Now, let's head back to class and we'll start our science lesson."

Her eyes light up and she races out of the bathroom and down the hall.

Ororo nods at me. "Nice job."

"Thank you." I perform a mock bow. "It's all in a day's work."

She just rolls her eyes.


	27. Chapter 27

Spring Break is infamous for being a hotspot for wild parties and drunk college kids. Most teachers, on the other hand, just take it for what it is: a break from work. And right before state assessments, too.

Me? I was flying to Iowa to visit my future in-laws for three days then flying back to attend a best friend's wedding where I was a bridesmaid. (Jane was matron of honor.)

"Are you sure you're ready for this? They can be a little overwhelming," Clint warns as we clip out of the car in front of his parent's house. "Especially now that they're going to have a new daughter-in-law."

"I'll be fine, sweetheart, honestly." I roll my eyes. "You're worrying about this more than I am."

He just squeezes my hand and knocks on the front door, causing a litany of noise before it's opened. "Clint! Taylor!"

"Diane," Clint hugs his sister-in-law. "Want to let us in?"

"Oh, right." She waves us inside, and we go through the gauntlet of congratulations and greetings as a pack of children, all under ten, races through the crowd to leech themselves to our legs, all the while screaming "Uncle Clint! Aunt Taylor!" or variations thereof.

I grin as I peel them off my legs, wondering who told them they could call me 'Aunt' to my face, given that Clint only called them with the news a week ago.

"I hope they don't bother you." I look up to see one of the sister in-laws, Rachel I think, offering me a hand.

I take it and boost myself up. "No, they're fine. I work with little kids eight hours a day, five days a week."

She nods. "That's right, you work with Clint, don't you?"

"About four grades below him, yeah."

"Aw, an office romance then!" I roll my eyes. "Come on into the kitchen, we can give you a who's who crash course. Also, keeping an ear out to make sure nobody hurts anyone else over a football play."

I chuckle as I follow her into the kitchen. "Wouldn't want that, now would we?"

Rachel grins, "Well there are the life insurance policies."

She whistles once we get in the kitchen. "Diane, Michelle, this is Taylor, Clint's fiancé. Taylor, this is Diane," she points to the blonde with green eyes by the sink, "and Michelle." She points towards the redhead with hazel eyes by the table.

Michelle grins and hands me a glass of lemonade. "You might want to sit down, this may take a while."

So I grab a chair from the kitchen table and listen.

Rachel was married to Adam, the oldest Barton brother, and had been for five years. She has two children – Michael, 5, and Thomas, 3. Diane had been married to John, the second oldest brother, for three years and they had a one year old daughter named Sophie. Michelle was childless but married to Barney, the second youngest, for nearly two years. Barney, I learned, wasn't here, nobody had known where he was since the beginning of February.

Clint's mom was named Eleanor, and his father William. His mother had three sisters: Elizabeth (Beth), Margaret (Maggie), and Sophia. Beth and her husband Charlie had two teenage sons, Maggie and husband Sean had one daughter in college, and Sophia and her husband Danny had twins; a son and a daughter.

"So recap," Rachel surmises as I sit back to breathe and absorb the information. "I'm married to Adam, Diane is married to John, Michelle is married to Barney, and now you're going to be married to the youngest brother, Clint."

"Barney's MIA?"

Rachel looks over my shoulder at Michelle, then down to avoid meeting my eyes. "Ask Clint."

I shift in my seat uncomfortably as a particularly loud cheer goes up in the living room. I'm thankfully saved from restarting the conversation by Clint's mother slipping into the room. "Can I join the party?"

"Well it's not much of party in here, that's out there." I shrug, and Eleanor steps forward. "Taylor, right?"

I grin. "That's me."

She nods. "You're marrying my baby boy. Congratulations, by the way. I trust you're settled in okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, now," she clucks her tongue, "None of this 'ma'am' business. You're a) making me feel old, and b) you will be family soon. Call me either Ellie, Mom, or Mama Barton."

"I'm going to stick with Mama Barton," I decide.

She shrugs. "So, I haven't seen the ring yet. May I?"

I nod and stick out my left hand, and she takes it as Rachel looks over her shoulder and Diane and Michelle appear at her sides. Rachel lets out a low whistle. "Wow, that is gorgeous. I got stuck with a single diamond." She points at the ring below her wedding band, a traditional silver band with one diamond.

Michelle disappears and returns a minute later, dragging Clint in by the collar. "Hey!"

"How much did you spend on that ring?" Rachel demands.

Clint straightens up and brushes off his shirt, glaring at Michelle. "I'm not telling you."

"We're just curious as to how you afforded it," Diane shrugs, "We have seen your salary."

He just shrugs. "I might tell you on my deathbed, but not before."

I narrow my eyes. "Was it legal?"

"Of course."

"Okay, you can go back to football and stuff." I shoo him out.

He rolls his eyes. "Now that I have your permission…"

"Oh hush." I roll my eyes as he goes back to the living room.

"So." His mom turns back to me. "You think you can handle us?"

I snort. "Pretty sure. I would've left by now if I hadn't been able to."

She nods with an ear-to-ear smile. "Good. Welcome to the family."

I grin and sit back as another holler goes off in the next room, looking around at the women in the room. "They're pretty amazing, aren't they?"

Every single person in the room nods certainly. "We all think we hit the jackpot," Diane tells me, "In our own special ways."

* * *

Later that night, in one of the surprisingly many guest rooms, I begin to take Rachel's advice about asking Clint about his absent brother.

"Clint?" I ask as I stare at the ceiling, my head resting just about on his sternum.

"Yeah?" he pauses in playing with my hair.

"I was talking to Rachel and the girls earlier…"

"Uh oh, are you conspiring?" he jokes.

I slap him lightly in the stomach. "No. I was just thinking about how Michelle seems like an interesting person."

I feel him sigh. "And nobody would talk about her husband. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

He shakes his head. "You have a right to know if he's going to be your brother in-law. Everyone else knows, it's just a bit of a taboo when everyone's under the same roof. I personally, don't mind talking about him, it's not like he's dead, psycho or a murderer or anything. He's still my brother."

I nod into his chest. "I understand."

My head rises and falls as he takes a deep breath. "Okay, here goes. You know that I'm 26, Barney's closest to me at 28, Brian's 32, John's 35, and Adam's 38. Barney and I were always the closest out of the five of us, and my mom always said we acted more like twins than older and younger brothers."

He sighs nostalgically. "That changed as soon as we entered high school. Freshman year, I got A's, B's, and a C or two while he got mainly D's and F's. My parents ignored him, said it was just a passing phase and he would rise up soon enough. Well, it turns out it wasn't just a phase, and he only got worse from there. He started smoking as a sophomore, and he hopped from one bad crowd to another that was even worse than before. He dropped out junior year, barely got his GED, and as I was graduating he was getting thrown in jail for robbery."

He pauses, and I twist my head up to kiss him. "You can stop whenever you want."

He shakes his head. "No, it's okay. Anyways, he made sure to write me at least every month, and we would talk about anything and everything – other inmates, Michelle, his job in the cafeteria, card games, my job, sometimes even you."

"Me?"

He nods. "He's proud of me for finding you, by the way. Anyways, he got out on parole in February, and he hasn't wrote or been heard from since. I'm pretty much the only one here that believes he isn't a lost cause."

I furrow my brow. "Not even Michelle?"

He sighs. "No. Rumor has it that they may be looking for a divorce, mainly because Michelle and her family is from old money and doesn't want their 'precious girl' married to a jailbird."

"And Michelle agrees?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's not like they have kids, or really any ties to this family. It's just awkward for Michelle to come to any reunions without Barney," he explains.

I close my eyes. "Wow. Alright, now with that happy note, we have to fall asleep."

Clint pulls my close and kisses my temple. "Goodnight."

"'night."


	28. Chapter 28

"Hurry the hell up, Taylor!" Jane shouts, poking her head out of the bridal dressing room door.

"Coming!" I shout back as I meet Jane at the door with _Girls _written on a piece of paper stick to the door.

"You have the dresses?" she asks as she waves me inside.

"I have the dresses," I confirm holding out the four purple dresses and one green one.

"Good." Jane nods. "Now come on, you're going to want to see the dress."

I follow her into the room and am greeted by Betty, who was wrapped in a white robe in preparation for her dress. "Hey there, Frankenstein's Bride."

She rolls her eyes. "Bruce is not Frankenstein, no matter how much it fit him for some reason that one Halloween. Anyways, look at my dress!"

I lean over her shoulder to look at the dress, still lying in it's unzipped plastic bag. The dress was pretty, if not my style; a lace top from shoulder to about collar bone, a sweetheart neckline, a tight bodice, and a ruffled ball gown skirt layered with tulle.

"Pretty," I comment, "but only for you, not me."

Betty nods and nudges us all from the room as she puts on the dress, at least until she needs help fastening it in the back.

I wait outside for about five minutes with Jane, Natasha, Carol, and Darcy, idly discussing the venue – a country club – things related to work, how my visit to Iowa went, and other small topics of conversation.

"Hey guys!"

Natasha, the closest to the door, pokes her head back in. "Need help?"

"Yes! This dress is impossible to fasten! Small fingers wanted!"

We all troop back into the room to look at her dilemma. And she was right – the dress' back has a bunch of tiny latch-hook style fasteners. I give a low whistle as Carol, immediately next to me, sighs. "Right, small fingers. Put out your hands."

We all follow her instruction and stick out our hands, fingers splayed and palms down. Carol instantly withdrawals, followed by Darcy, and then Natasha. It eventually comes down to a rock-paper-scissors duel between Jane's nimble scientist's hands or my tinkerer's fingers. I slap down a rock, crushing Jane's scissors. I can't decide if it's a good thing or not, though.

I crouch behind Betty as the rest of the girls crowd around and get ready to cinch her dress if need be. I start hooking at the bottom, sporadically giving calls for Betty to suck it in or for the rest to pull the sides of the dress closer together.

"34, 35, 36, 37…pull!"

"How much longer?" Betty groans.

"45, 46, 47…about 53 more hooks, Betty."

"Why did I buy this dress again?"

I would've shrugged if I didn't need to keep my hands still.

I can hear a phone buzz, accompanied by the sound my phone makes when I receive a text. "Will someone please get that?"

Darcy, of course, is the first to make an eager grab for my phone, but Natasha moves quicker and swipes it off the table first.

"It's Clint," she announces, reading the text. "He wants to know our ETA and the bridesmaid/groomsmen pairings."

"Tell him I don't know our ETA, we're fastening the bride's dress. And that I'll tell him the pairings later."

I can hear the fast clicking of keys as she types. "Word for word?"

"Please." I reply without looking up from the 73rd hook.

She hums as the clicking stops. "Sent it."

"Thank you…87, 88, 89…my fingers hurt."

I can smell Jane's hair as she appears over my shoulder. "Want me to take over?"

"No…92, 93, 94…almost done." I give one last order to pull and suck it in as I fasten the last hook and wipe my hands on my jeans. Done!"

"With that part." Carol reminds me pessimistically. I just glare at her as I go to grab my phone and send a message to my fiancé. _Fastening done. Pairings: Darcy + Thor, me + you, Natasha + Bucky, Carol + Steve. Tell Bucky and Steve sorry but Nat and Carol needed partners._

It takes about a minute for a reply to buzz in. _Why Darcy and Thor?_

_Jane walks down separately, behind Betty._

_Ok._

"Taylor, come check these out!"

I set down my phone and follow Darcy's voice to where the girls are crowded around the bridesmaid dresses.

The dresses themselves are a light lavender color with thin straps and an intricate crisscross pattern in the back and a darker purple silk ribbon just under the bust. Jane, as the matron of honor, has a different dress; light green instead of purple.

I look at Darcy. "You called?"

She nods. "What shoes did these come with?"

I go to grab the bag I left by the door. "Ours have purple flats with beaded toes and Jane has green flats with beaded toes." I hand them each a pair of shoes in their shoe size. "Should we get dressed?"

"Go ahead," Betty calls, "there's a room in the back. My dad should be checking in any minute now."

"Got it, be right back." We all shuffle in the back room as we hear the dressing room door open.

We all change quickly, adjusting assets and zipping each other up and making sure we can all get the back of the dresses figured out.

I finish untwisting Darcy's straps before we all file back out into the main room just in time to see Betty's father leave. "So?" I ask the bride with a twirl. "What do you think?"

"Oh!" Betty gasps and claps her hands. "You guys look stunning! Jane, how does the color contrast look?"

"Good," Jane replies, looking down at her dress. "What's with the colors?"

"I like green and Bruce likes purple." Betty explains simply. "Now, we need to recheck makeup and all that before the procession starts in half an hour."

We all nod before lining up single file, like we teach students, to use the full length mirror to touch up our waterproof mascara and lip gloss. (Waterproof, we decided, because nobody likes an ugly crier.)

We finally decide that our makeup is perfect, slip on our shoes, help Betty with her veil and shoes, and set a brisk course for outside, where the aisle was and the procession was due to start soon.

The aisle is breathtaking; a white runner lined by colorful potted flowers leading to an ivy-twined altar backed by a lake. Bruce is already waiting at the altar with my dad as his best man, to the right of the officiant.

I make sure Betty has her bouquet of Stargazer lilies and line up the bridesmaids with their partners, lopping my hand through the crook of Clint's elbow, second in line behind Darcy and Thor, who was on crutches.

Someone signals to someone else, and Westlife's _Beautiful in White _begins to play as Darcy and Thor slowly begin down the aisle. Clint and I follow, and I take my spot behind Darcy to the left of the altar as I watch Carol, Steve, Natasha, and Bucky make their way down the aisle.

They're followed by some tiny (and adorable) cousins of Betty's, the girl spreading flower petals as the boy carry decoy rings – the real ones safe with my dad. Everyone stands as the music fades out and is replaced by the wedding march and Betty and her dad, a white haired, slightly wrinkled man with a few medals on his chest. Jane is trailing behind Betty, making sure her dress doesn't pick up any twigs or dirt.

Jane slips in front of Darcy as Betty passes back her bouquet and faces Bruce.

The officiant recites what he's supposed to; he talks about joy and celebration and companionship in a very monotonous tone. Neither Bruce nor Betty have vows, opting instead to us the premade ones.

"Please face each other and hold hands." The officiant turns to Betty. "Do you, Elizabeth Marissa Ross, take this man, Robert Bruce Banner, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, for the rest of your life until death do you part?"

Betty sniffles and eventually chokes out "I do," through her tears with a nod.

The officiant then turns to Bruce. "Do you, Robert Bruce Banner, take this woman, Elizabeth Marissa Ross, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, for the rest of your life until death do you part?"

Bruce nods slowly, never taking his eyes off Betty. "I do."

The officiant nods to my dad. "The rings, please."

My dad pulls the two golden bands out of his breast pocket and hands them over.

The officiant first faces Bruce. "Repeat after me. I give you this ring. Wear it with love and joy. As this ring has no end, my love is also forever."

Bruce repeats the words and slips the ring on to Betty's left ring finger with a giddy smile. The officiant turns to Betty. "Repeat after me. With this ring, I wed thee. Wear this ring forever as a sign of my love."

Betty repeats, a little more tearful, before slipping the ring onto Bruce's left ring finger.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!" The officiant turns to Bruce. "You can kiss her now."

Bruce laughs and flips up Betty's veil, grabbing her face to kiss her deeply as cheers and wolf whistles erupt around them, flowers and confetti being thrown into the air.

I laugh and high five the rest of the bridesmaids.

Next stop, reception.


	29. Chapter 29

Bruce and Betty's reception my being held in a ballroom at the other side of the country club; the guests rode golf carts to get there.

"This is the right place?" Clint asks as he changes his bowtie out for a neck tie. Trying unsuccessfully to tie a knot in the tie.

"Yes." I reach over and shoo his hands away, quickly tying the knot before patting it down and giving him a quick kiss. I lead the way up to the big oak doors, pushing one open to see people – Betty's family, Bruce's family, the gang from the school – milling around with plates of appetizers and engaging in general conversation.

"Taylor!" Darcy waves me over. "Over here!"

I chuckle as I squeeze Clint's hand before walking over to her. "Hey there. Nice job out there."

She gives a mock bow. "Why thank you. I didn't really do much, though."

"True," I shrug. "It was mainly Jane." I scan the room for the matron of honor. "Where is she?"

"She texted saying she was going to be arriving just before the bride and groom," Darcy explains around a mini bagel dog.

"So," I much on a piece of pineapple, "did you bring a date?"

She shakes her head. "No, but there is this one guy…"

"Who?" I raise an eyebrow and bounce slightly. "Who is it? Come on, spill!"

"No!"

I set my hands on the hips of my dress. "You pushed me for the entire first semester _and _Christmas break about my relationship. Now the table are turned."

"Well, turn them back." Darcy whines.

I shake my head. "No can do."

Darcy huffs, rolls her eyes, and angrily bites into the chocolate strawberry she was holding.

"Can I have your attention please?" I look up to see my dad standing in the middle of the dance floor with a microphone. "The bride and groom are about to arrive."

Jane slips through the doors, whispers in my dad's ear, and jogs over to Darcy and I. "ETA of five."

"Good." We nod, and I look over at Jane. "Darcy didn't bring a date."

Jane raises an eyebrow. "She didn't?"

"No! I did not!" Darcy groans.

I smirk evilly. "Payback's fun, isn't it?"

Darcy groans again as my dad starts speaking again. "Attention all wedding goers! The bridal party has arrived!"

Darcy, Natasha, Carol, Jane and I all squeal quietly as the lights dim slightly and all the light in the room gets pooled on the doors.

"Introducing," my dad begins in an announcer's voice, "the newly minted Dr. and Dr. Mrs. Bruce Banner!"'

The room bursts into cheers as Bruce and Betty enter the room, holding hands and laughing and looking like they were having the time of their lives – they probably were.

"Clear the dance floor!" My dad orders. "It's time to let the newlyweds dance."

Everyone shuffles back and off the dance floor as Betty and Bruce take the floor, a quiet hush falling over the room as Coldplay's _Sparks _begins to play.

I dab at the corners of my eyes as I watch the newlyweds' dance mentally thanking Betty for the waterproof mascara and making a note to use it at my own wedding. I watch as Betty and Bruce waltz slowly around the dance floor, eyes only on each other. Their new wedding bands catch the light and softly throw it around the room.

The song fades out after about three and a half minutes or so, and everyone makes their ways to the tables. The tables are covered in white tablecloths with deep purple runners and centerpieces of lilies and ivy in vases. My dad hands the microphone off to an announcer, who tells us that the best man will speak now, the dinner will be served, followed by the father daughter dance, the matron of honor speech, and finally desert before the dance floor becomes free reign.

My dad clears his throat and slips a stack of notecards out of his pocket. "Okay, just so all of you know, this is a rare display of emotion and should not be expected from me again until Taylor's wedding."

Everyone rolls their eyes or shake their head, and I catch Bruce looking at his best man like he's seriously regretting his decision.

My dad clears his throat again. "When I first met Bruce, I wasn't in the best of places. My world had come crashing down around me, one of my best friends almost killed me, and all I had was my seventeen year old daughter acting as a life preserver. There were times when I was so drunk I couldn't remember my own name. Then I was…ah, shall we say _convinced_-"

"Convinced doesn't begin to describe what I had to do," I mumble under my breath, inaudible for everyone except me.

"-to get my act in gear and attend an AA meeting. That's when I met one quiet, shy, incredibly brilliant man named Robert Bruce Banner. Although he told me if I ever called him anything but Bruce he would poison me with a plethora of dangerous liquids." My dad takes a breath as the room laughs. "Anyways, I bugged him into milkshakes, let Taylor meet him, and soon enough he landed me a job. About two and a half years ago he told me about this beautiful biology teacher he met over winter break. No guesses for who it was. I watched his eyes shine as he went on and on about how pretty she was, how smart she was, how good his last name sounded paired with her name…wait," he looks over at a blushing Bruce. "Was I not supposed to say that?"

"Too late now."

My dad shrugs. "Anyways, I met her about two years ago. I was surprised – she was almost as smart as I was. And she was able to remind Bruce to eat, get sleep, and not work so hard…things I really never had because Taylor's as obsessed as I am. Anyways, I'm glad it worked out, you two, and I wish you nothing but happiness and amazing-"

"Tony, sit down."

"Fine, Bruce, be that way." He grumbles, returning to his seat.

The groom just rolls his eyes as dinner is started around the tables.

I will forever deny squealing like a schoolgirl when I got my plate of steak. I will admit glaring at my fiancé when he laughed at me, though.

After the plates were cleaned, the dancefloor was cleared once again as Betty and her father took the floor and Bob Dylan's _Butterfly Kisses _came through the speakers.

Clint turns to me. _I bet you twenty dollars your dad cries his eyes out at our wedding, _he signs.

I shake my head. _No bet, I know he will. _

He shoves his lip out in a mock pout, and I just laugh and shake my head as the song fades out and Betty's dad kisses her forehead before letting her return to her husband's side. I signal to Jane, who nods before standing and clinking her spoon against her wine glass.

"Thank you." She clears her throat. "According to stereotypes, people like Jane, Taylor, and I have no social life, more textbooks than friends, and will all die alone, insane, and with 40 cats. Well, all I have to say is look at us now! I've been married for seven years, Betty is a bride, and I really hope Taylor and Clint will hurry up and tie the knot already because we're. All. Waiting." She sends us a pointed glare.

"We have barely been engaged for a moth!" I protest.

Jane shrugs. "Anyways, we're defying standards, being amazing, and other amazing things like that. I wish Bruce and Betty as much happiness in their lives as I have had in mine, and I wish them the best of luck. Also, Bruce, she's always right. Remember that."

Bruce huffs and Betty nods as Jane sits back down, sharing a grin with Betty.

Desert is passed out, eaten, and enjoyed before the DJ cranks up the music and the dance floor is flooded.

I grab Clint and lead him out to the floor on one of the slower songs, facing him and putting a hand on his shoulder as he puts one hand on my hip and linking our free hands. "You know, she's probably right, we do need a wedding date."

"We need to finish moving in first," he reminds me. "We barely have a couch."

"You're welcome."

"And we have work."

I sigh. "Pessimist."

"I tell the truth."

I scrunch up my face at him, but he just chuckles and kisses me. "Don't worry. How about this: we'll be married by next August. I promise."

I tilt my head up slightly. "So in the summer?"

"Well that's when everyone can be there."

"Then summer it is."

He twirls me with a laugh, and I look past him and up at the bride and groom, sharing a happy look with the new Mrs. Banner.

The next time someone wears a white dress will be my own wedding.

And I can't wait.


	30. Chapter 30

I sigh as I pull into my driveway around 3:30. My day had been long, tiresome, and filled with all the worst case scenarios in the teacher's handbook; one bloody nose because Marcus could not stop picking his nose, a sobbing child because he forgot to tie his shoe and went face down into the bus ramp – with his head making sickening, terrifying crunch. One kid forgot their lunch, another refused to eat her lunch, while my kids where at lunch I had to attend a quick meeting on testing schedules during state assessments, and I had to call a mom because her daughter brought a necklace with a small diamond to school for show and tell.

I had a slight headache, my back hurt, my feet felt like they were on fire, and I was all around tired. I didn't want to work with metal, Clint was still at work, and I wanted a nap. And some Advil.

I park the car, grab my keys, and climb out, heading for the front door and digging my keys out of my bag along the way. I unlock the door and step into the entry way, hanging my jacket on one of the hooks we got installed.

I kick my shoes off as I enter the living room, ready to flop onto the couch and sleep until Clint gets home.

I stop dead in my tracks, however, as I stare at the someone already sitting on the couch.

And the person stares back at me.

"Um," I stutter, "Who the hell are you?"

The stranger, a man, blinks. "I could ask you the same thing."

I clench my teeth. "What are you doing in my house?"

"I thought this was my brother's house?"

"It might be…" I take a moment to study the guy, finding subtle similarities in his hair, jawline, and eye color. "Would your brother be named Clint Barton, by any chance?"

The man widens his eyes and stare at me. "Yeah…and you know him?"

"You must be Barney," I step forward and extend a hand. "My name is Taylor."

He grins and shakes my hand. "So you're the amazing Taylor. How did you know who I was?"

"Well you aren't Adam, John, Brian, or my fiancé," I retort. "Next question: why the hell are you here?"

Barney looks at his feet. "I figured I could come here."

I shake my head. "Let me call Clint." He nods as I dig out my phone and walk a few steps away, punching my number one speed dial.

"_Hey there."_

"Hey Clint. We have a slight…issue."

"_What's wrong? Are you okay? What-"_

"Slow down. Calm down. I'm okay, don't worry. It's not me."

"_Okay…"_

"Guess who I found on the couch, smelling like a sewer and with dirt coating his face?"

"_You didn't."_

"I did." I sigh. "I found Barney."

I can hear him sigh. _"Alright, get him cleaned up and dressed and stuff. My clothes might fit him, some of the bigger ones. I'm on my way home, I'll call Michelle in the car."_

"But didn't you need to-"

"_Right now I need to take care of my brother," _he cuts me off. _"I love you."_

"Love you too." I hang up the phone and walk back over to Barney. "You need a shower."

He nods, and I wave for him to follow me into the smaller bathroom. "You shower," I instruct, "While I find you some clothes. Bring your clothes out when you're done, I'll toss them into the washing machine."

He nods and I slip out as he turns on the shower. I head into the master bedroom and begin digging through Clint's clothes for some of his oversized t-shirts and sweatpants. I finally grab a grey t-shirt and some fuzzy grey pants, folding them on the newly built coffee table and sitting back on the couch to wait.

I hear a car engine cut off, followed by a car door slamming and the front door opening. I look up as Clint steps into the room, looking tenser than I've ever seen him, tired, and strained. He walks over to give me a quick kiss. "Where is he?"

"In the shower. You talked to Michelle?"

"I did." He sinks onto the couch with a sigh.

I lean against his side. "And?"

"And she doesn't want anything to do with an escaped felon, apparently."

"He didn't escape," I point out. "He's on parole."

"I also talked to his parole officer, and he hasn't checked in since he got released."

I groan. "Why does he do that?"

"Why does who do what?"

We both look over to see Barney standing in the archway with a towel wrapped around his waist. Clint rears back, but I grab the clothes and shove Barney back into the guest bedroom before anyone can say anything else.

"Well…he's looking well."

"You didn't see him before the shower. You wanna find something for him to eat while I go put his clothes in the washing machine?"

He nods and heads into the kitchen while I grab Barney's clothes, which were folded nicely in the bathroom, and walk through the house to the garage, weaving my way through the projects littering the floor. I open the door to the laudry room, stepping from concrete floor to tile as I step into the small, shed-sized room off the garage.

I toss the clothes into the washing machine and throw in a capsule, nudging the door closed with a foot as I jog back into the garage and then the house. I step into the kitchen and lean against the counter quietly as I watch my fiancé and his brother face off, one at either side of the couch; Clint with his shoulders back and arms crossed in a defensive pose I haven't seen since a sleazy waiter hit on me on a date, Barney lounging with his feet on the couch and looking like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"Hey guys, what's going-"

"Where the hell have you been?" Clint demands suddenly.

"Why should you care? You aren't my dad."

Clint tilts his head. "I know what. Am I suddenly not allowed to care about my brother now?"

"You aren't allowed to but in to my life, I've been fine-"

"Is hopping from flop house to dumpster 'fine'?"

"Those were not flop houses!"

"Really? Because they looked like they were falling apart-"

"-they just needed maintenance-"

"-your 'friends' were druggies-"

"-no they weren't, how would you know-"

"-I saw you in high school, I know what that looks like-"

"-I kept myself busy-"

"-apparently too busy to check in with your parole officer-"

"-I didn't need to-"

"-yeah, you actually did-"

"-you aren't being very welcoming-"

"-you would've been in jail had you not been here-"

"Fine."

Clint blinks. "What?"

"I said, fine. You want to haul me in?"

"I want to protect you." Clint insists.

"Nice job with that so far, by the way. Why do you care?"

Clint stares at his brother. "I care because you're my brother."

"Oh come _on_, you're a big boy now, or do you need your blankie?"

Clint clenches his fists as I tense and lean forward slightly. "I want my brother back! I want the guy that hid me behind the bushes and then took on my bullies! Where the hell is he? Because the guy sitting in front of me is a complete failure, an escaped convict, and a complete stranger!"

I quickly slide around the counter and step between the two of them before tensions can rise any further. "Okay," I say in the tone I use to placate students, "Alright, let's back up and take a breath. Clint, sweetheart, you're still in your work clothes. Take your shoes off, at least. Barney, get your feet off my couch."

Barney pulls his feet off the couch as I grab Clint's hand and lead him back to our bedroom, watching as he tugs his tie off. "What are we going to do?"

I tilt my head. "What do you mean?"

He turns to look at me. "Don't do that. Barney. Where's he going to go?"

"You mean besides here."

He stops, turns, and stares at me. "What?"

I link my hands behind his neck. "He's your brother, Clint, you aren't just going to turn him away."

He lays his head on my shoulder. "I'm not?"

"You're not." I shake my head. "I know you."

"You do."

I nod and lean back to kiss him. "Now get a t-shirt on, we have a wayward brother to deal with."


	31. Chapter 31

The beginning of May brought the beginning of the final push of testing preparations: what class would be where when, when teachers would be able to take bathroom breaks, and the staff suffering through the long winded complaints by my dad on the use of his lab for testing.

At home, things weren't less chaotic by any means. For the past two weeks, Barney had been living out of the guest bedroom, with specific orders to stay out of the garage – specifically to _stay the hell out of the garage because my work is in there and you will experience pain if you touch my work. _Clint had to pretty much drag him to meet with his parole officer, he's as stubborn as my dad, he doesn't do anything to help in the house, and he essentially lives on our couch, but we still can't turn him away.

"Taylor, wake up!"

"It wasn't me – what?" I startle awake to see Natasha looking at me strangely. "You fell asleep again."

"I know, sorry," I sit up and rub a hand over my face. "Just have a full plate right now."

Natasha nods as Fury finishes talking and hands out the schedules, dismissing us and urging us to go to Maria with any questions. I take my papers and almost run out of the room, weaving through the hallways until I get to my room. I barely have time to drop my bag before the phone on my desk starts ringing. "Stark."

"_Good, you got into your room. You're needed in the office ASAP."_

"Fury?"

"_It's something to do with the Thompsons, Taylor."_

"I'll be right down."

"_Good."_

I set the phone down on the receiver and quickly toss my bag over my shoulder and jog towards the office, trying to corral my thoughts and keep them out of the dark whirlwind of worse case scenarios that was forming. I had attended the funeral of a student of Mrs. Miller's when I first started, I do not want a repeat with one of my own.

I enter Fury's office and see Maria leaning against the desk, Fury behind the desk, and Bucky leaning against the back wall. "What's going on?"

"Sit down, Taylor."

"No thanks, I'm going to stand. Fury-"

"Fine," he sighs. "The sheriff's office called this morning."

I take deep breath as all the possible domestic violence cases speed through my head. "And?" Bucky leans forward. "What did they need?"

"Are Jessie and Brian okay?"

"They're fine," Maria assures both of us. "Jessie and Brian are fine. The issue was with Martin."

"The dad," I glance at Bucky. "Keep talking."

"I'll start at the beginning. Last night around 11pm, the sheriff's office got a call from one of the Thompson's neighbors saying that she was hearing shouting, screaming, and breaking glass coming from inside of the house. Police responded to a domestic violence call. The mom was hysteric, the dad was drunk, and the kids were hiding in Brian's closet. Based off the scars on Brian's hands, the dad got hauled in for abuse, the mom got taken to the hospital for a mental check, and the kids are staying with grandparents in the area."

"Okay, wow," I blink. "Are they going to be coming in today?"

"We don't know," Maria sighs. "Expect them to come in, and if they don't then you can catch them up when they come in."

Bucky and I nod. "Do you have the file on this?"

"We do, but I don't think anyone needs to see that right now. Deal with the injuries as you see them," Fury orders. "Improvise, people!"

At least Bucky and I can roll our eyes as we gather our bags and leave the office, him heading upstairs while I turn down the hallway towards my class.

I enter my classroom as the bell rings and wipe the board down while I wait for Steve, who had free period and had agreed to deliver my kids, to arrive.

"Delivery for Miss Stark?"

I glance at Steve, who was standing in the doorway with a kid peeking out from behind his leg. "Come on in."

He steps aside as the kids stream in, giving me a small wave before heading to his own classroom. I help a few of my little humans get their backpacks off and hung, directing them to get into their groups for the reading project they were working on. I float from group to group, helping with ideas, how to spell certain words, or uncapping a stubborn pen.

I stand from my crouch, stretch out my sore knees, and move to return to my desk when a whimper from the back of the room stops me in my tracks. I spin around to see Jessie cured up on one of the beanbag chairs in the reading corner. I sigh slightly as I crouch next to her. "Jessie, what's wrong?"

"It's…it's…my daddy…"

"Alright," I stand up, pulling her up with me. "Let's go and chat in the hallway, shall we?"

She nods, sniffles, and follows me out. Once we exit the classroom, I lean against the wall and pull a pack of tissues out of my pocket that I kept for emergency cases of spring flu. "Okay, now talk."

"My daddy…daddy got taken by police last night…and he…he was yelling. He said the bad words, the ones you tell us never ever, ever to say," she sniffles. "And mommy was crying, too. I didn't think parents cried."

I sigh. "Everyone cries."

"Yeah, but not grownups!" she protests.

"Even grownups sometimes," I nod. "What happened next?"

"Everything went quiet, like in reading time. Then someone shouted and we heard footsteps and then someone knocked on Brian's door and told us it was safe. He said his name was Officer Jimmy, and he and his friend Officer Susan were going to take us to get checked out. They...they saw Brian's hands, and their faces got that crinkled worried faces adults get sometimes," she looks at me, "You know the face?"

"I do." I nod, thinking back to all the worry worthy things in my life, like my felon of a brother-in-law. "I make it quite often."

"Aw," she pats my arm. "You shouldn't."

"Thank you. Now, what happened after the worried faces?"

"They said my daddy was going away for a long time and my mommy was sick. They took my daddy away, they took my mommy away…are they going to take ma and Brian away from Grammie and Grandpy?"

"No, no they shouldn't," I reassure her. "You just stay there and be a good kid, okay, and you should be fine."

She nods then falls silent for a minute. "Miss Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"Is...Is it okay that I don't like my daddy right now? He's loud, and he yells, and he got taken away."

I sink down so that I'm eye level with her. "That's perfectly okay, Jessie. You won't always like people. You know, when I was your age, my dad wouldn't let me play with my toys." I fail to mention that I had almost blown up a lab a few days prior with faulty wiring. "I was so, so mad at him, I felt like screaming. I didn't like him for the rest of the day. But it all ended up okay, because you know what? I still loved him, and you still love your daddy, right?"

"Yeah."

"Right. And your mommy will be back soon, just you wait."

She nods. "I guess."

I grin. "Now, do you want to go to Miss Munroe's office? A little birdie told me she got some new crayons."

Her face lights up. "Really?"

"Really." I stand and nudge her up, leading her down the hall.

I deposit her in the guidance counselor's office and make sure she's settled before nodding to Ororo and heading back into the hallway.

I sigh and slump against a wall, shoving my hands in my pockets and sighing wearily.

Why does life have to be this cruel?


	32. Chapter 32

"Taylor, you need to get up."

"No," I mumble into the pillow, fighting my fiancé's protests. "I don't want to."

"Well if you don't get up," I can almost hear Clint's smirk, "then Wade is going to have to start state testing."

I lift my head from my pillow. "Fine."

Clint grins and kisses my temple before getting up and heading towards his dresser while I head into the bathroom and start the shower. I take a little bit of time to stand under the spray and curse the school board for state assessments before quickly washing off and wrapping a towel around myself and heading back into the bedroom.

"Are we grabbing a quick breakfast here or at the McDonalds on our way?" I ask as I pick out a pair of dark wash, tight fitting jeans, a white blouse, and a lime green cardigan.

"I think we have stuff here," Clint's voice is muffled slightly as he pulls his undershirt over his head. "If Barney hasn't eaten it all."

"He's not the only one to blame." I remind him.

Clint just huffs as he buttons up his dress shirt and reaches for his cologne.

I slip out of the bedroom with two missions: to find my shoes and see if Barney is awake yet.

"Good mornin'," a voice calls from the kitchen, accomplishing one of my objectives.

"Morning. Have you seen my shoes?"

Barney shakes his head. "Nope, sorry."

I just sigh as I start the coffee machine and visually scan the living room for my shoes.

Clint emerges into the living room fully dressed and with his hair slightly gelled, setting a pair of green flats on the counter as he passes me. "They were in the office."

"Thanks." I walk over and perch on the couch while I pull my shoes on and Clint rummages through the pantry for something suitable for breakfast.

"Granola bars," he announces, setting a box on the table. "And coffee's almost ready."

I swipe a honey and oat granola bar from the box and lean back against the counter, watching as Clint gets two travel mugs out and sets the creamer on the counter. "Barney, you have a thing at the police station today."

He huffs and rolls his eyes. "I'll go, don't worry."

I narrow my eyes suspiciously but say nothing as I grab Clint's keys off the counter trading them for the coffee Clint hands me and grabbing my bag as we head out onto the driveway.

"We have everything, right?"

I run down a mental checklist. "Keys, bags, coffee…Advil?"

"In the center console of my car."

"Then that's everything. How's your brother getting to the station later?"

"Taxi, I'm assuming," Clint runs a hand through his hair as I climb in his car. "I hope." He slides into the driver's seat and pulls out of the driveway.

The car ride was silent save for me tapping out the rhythm to the song on the radio on the dashboard and the occasional loud slurp of coffee, with both of us going over last minute schedules, testing plans, and instructions.

Clint pulls the car into a space in the staff parking lot and grabs the remnants of his coffee before hopping out and waiting for me to catch up.

Once inside, we both head for the office to pick up our bins of testing materials before parting ways.

Darcy, who was overseeing material pickup, just briefly glances at us. "Grab the box with your name on it. They're in alphabetical order."

Clint immediately finds the container with Barton on the front, right after Banner near the beginning of the line. I pace down the line until I find Stark, holding the box against my hip as we thank Darcy and leave the office.

"Have a good day," Clint chirps as he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close for a quick kiss.

"You too," I respond as I pull away and hitch my bag higher onto my shoulder, heading down the hall as he heads for the stairs.

Stopping in front of my door, I set the bin down momentarily to dig for my key and unlock my door before picking it back up to set it on my desk.

I quickly make sure the desks are arranged in the correct testing format and all the posters on my walls are either covered up or taken down before jotting the date on the board and heading out to the bus ramp for bus duty.

I lean against one of the poles as the big, yellow, groaning monstrosities pull up and kids flood out, issuing the usual warning not to run as kids either line up in front of their teachers or head into the building. I funnel the first of my kids towards me, straightening them into a line and letting them attract their classmates.

I do a head count as the last of the buses pull away, nodding as I count twenty one and lead them into the building. Once inside my classroom, I direct them into the testing seating layout and quiet down as I wait for the announcement that I can start reading the testing instructions.

Once Maria gives the go ahead, I begin reading the scripted packet explaining the rules of the test, the noise level in the room, the procedure on bathroom breaks, and the policy about electronic devices – not that any of my kids have any devices. The maximum age in my room was seven.

I pass out the booklets and write the starting time on the board and sit back to wait for the next stretch break, which was in 45 minutes.

I check my email, respond to Carol and May inquiries about kindergarten graduation in the final push until next Wednesday, assure Phil I had all my library books returned, tell Fury that I can mentor newbie teachers next year, and work on grading the end of year reading projects.

When the stretch break comes, I tell the kids they need to stay quiet and they can stand, stretch, but do no more than that.

A blonde head pokes its way around my door. "Need a break?"

My kids perk up, but I quickly calm them with "Not you guys. Yeah, Steve, thanks. Be back in five or so."

I slip out and head for the staff bathrooms, quickly doing what I need to and splashing water on my face to keep myself awake. I shove the door open, check my watch, and stroll down the halls to stretch my legs before I have to return.

I don't see Darcy or Natasha coming, almost running in to both of them.

"Hey there stranger."

"Hey guys. What's up?"

"Not much," Natasha shrugs. "I just got dome watching Wanda's kids while she stretched her legs."

"And I literally have nothing to do after I finalize paperwork," Darcy adds with a sigh. "You?"

I glance at my watch. "I have a few minutes to kill."

Darcy nods. "How're the wedding plans coming?"

"It'll be sometime in June," I tell them. "Not entirely sure when."

"Bridal party?" Natasha tilts her head.

"I might," I smirk. "Deciding on maid of honor. Or two."

"Two?" Darcy scrunches up her face. "Is that allowed?"

"My wedding," I shrug. "Nobody's going to tell me I can't."

"True," Natasha nods. "So who are your candidates?"

"You two, Betty, and Carol. I'm not going to make Jane be matron of honor again."

Darcy and Natasha nod the agreement and grin. "The rest of them would do fine. I really hope you choose soon, though."

"I will," I promise. "You should know by the beginning of June."

"No pressure." Darcy reminds me as I glance at my watch again and start inching away. "I have to go."

Natasha nods and waves me away. "Yeah, go be bored out of your mind for the rest of the day."

"Go clean pee mats," I fire back with an eye roll, not missing Natasha's tongue being stuck out at my back.

I don't hear her verbal retort, but it sounded angry. And Russian.


	33. Chapter 33

**This chapter is meant to serve as a bit of background for Taylor. Everything in this chapter _only _took place about two years before Saved by the Bell. We will return to the regular story next chapter.**

* * *

Tony's POV

"Why do I have to do this again?"

I look over at my daughter who was giving me a doubtful look from the passenger seat of my Mustang. "Because unemployment does not suit you."

"But an _elementary school_?" she shudders. "With boogers and diapers and…and…urgh."

I roll my eyes. "It can't be that bad, given that they already have the maximum of two pre-K and kindergarten teachers and I don't think diapers are necessary above that."

"But I'm not a teacher!" she argues.

"Have you ever tried before?" I counter. "Plus, if you weren't going to teach, then what was that education degree for?"

"I was bored," she retorts. "Mechanical and electrical engineering were a piece of cake."

"Whatever floats your boat," I shrug.

She just huffs, rolls her eyes, and goes back to watching the trees fly by as I drive to the school, Taylor being dragged along because she was starting to go stir crazy at home by herself with absolutely nothing to do; that, and I convinced her she should ask if they had job openings.

"Come on," I urge her as I pull into the parking lot. "Cheer up. I might have some Apple IIs that you can poke at."

Her eyes light up a tiny bit. "Alright…"

I nod as I climb out of the car and head towards the doors, hearing Taylor zip up her hoodie and follow me. "Why are you wearing that? It's June."

She shrugs and sticks her hands in the pockets of her black hoodie emblazoned with a red MIT logo. "It's comfortable."

I shake my head as I hold open the door and let her follow me inside. "Welcome to school."

She rolls her eyes as Darcy hears me and peeks out from behind her monitor. "Hey Tony! Did you get that order for the power strips in yet?"

"I turned it in to Coulson this morning," I nod. "He doesn't seem happy to see me."

"No, I wonder why?" she intones. "You only threatened to take a chainsaw to his bookcases a few weeks ago."

Taylor snickers softly behind me, and Darcy raises an eyebrow. "Who's this?"

"Ah, this is Taylor, my nineteen-"

"I turned twenty last month."

"Fine, twenty year old daughter. She needed something to do."

Darcy grins. "Hi Taylor. Welcome back to school. Just after you though you've left."

Taylor smiles. "I never thought I would be back after I walked across that stage."

Darcy beams, and I can tell that if Taylor does get a job here she's going to have a repertoire of cheerleaders.

Fury exits his cave – sorry, _office_ – to see what everyone is talking about, given that school had ended about two weeks before and the front office was normally quiet in summer. "What did you do, Stark?"

I raise my hands. "It wasn't me!"

"For once," Taylor grumbles, and I glare at her while Fury blinks. "Who are you?"

"Taylor Stark, sir," she introduces herself. "Tony Stark's daughter."

"There are more of you?"

She shrugs, and Fury turns to me. "How did I not know about this?"

"Most people didn't," I shrug, "I kept her out of the spotlight."

"Well that just saved more for you," Taylor mocks, and a grin twitches at the corners of his mouth before he can clamp down on it.

"Do you have pyromaniac tendencies too?"

She smirks. "Sometimes…but I also know how to operate twenty-nine different models of fire extinguishers."

"Good. So why are you here?"

She studies her shoes. "I need a job…"

"I'm assuming you have a resume?"

"It won't take too long for me to make one."

"And a teaching license?"

"Not yet, just a master's in education."

"That should be good. I'll look at our openings."

Taylor nods as Fury heads back into his office and I high five her. "Nice work."

"Thanks, I-" A squeaking sound cuts her off, and we look over to see Clint wrangling a cart loaded with textbooks. She leans closer to me. "Who's that?"

"Clint Barton, fifth grade. He's twenty four, been here for two years." I cup my hands around my mouth. "Barton! Get over here!"

Clint abandons the cart and jogs over to us. "What now, Tony?"

"Clint, this is Taylor, my daughter. Taylor, this is Clint."

They shakes hands, and I can see them studying each other intently.

"Hey Taylor, are you new here?"

She shakes her head. "Not as of yet. Maybe."

"Good enough," Clint nods. "Well, I have textbooks to sort, so I'll see you later."

She nods as he returns to the cart.

"So what do you think?"

"I want in. So badly."

* * *

Two weeks later, she walked back in with a teaching license, and a cardboard box full of teaching supplies. A few signatures later, she had a job teaching first graders and a classroom beneath Melinda's.

James Barnes, aka Bucky, from fourth grade was acting as her mentor, and I suppose it could have been worse. The rest of the summer went smoothly, with me helping hang posters, arrange desks, and wipe down various surfaces as she orders supplies, a nameplate for her desk, gets her ID picture taken, and settles into the environment.

I keep an eye on her as August 11th arrives, watching as she greets her twenty little rascals with a cheery grin and matching disposition, practically bouncing from excitement.

And then, after the final bell rings, I sit in my lab and wait for her to come down and either rant, rave, or whine about her first day, and, sure enough, she shuffles in about 3:30.

"They hate me," she whines as she rests her chin on my desk. "The kids utterly despise me."

"They miss their old teacher, Selena Kyle," I gently explain. "They will warm up to you eventually, just wait. How was your day otherwise?"

She perks up. "The staff is great. Clint was really nice, Thor is funny, Darcy is awesome, and Fury is possibly the best boss I have ever had…you don't count as my boss."

"Technically I was!" I insist. "I was CEO, you were VP. Therefore, I was your boss."

"You were also my father," she points out. "Reporters see that as nepotism."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. Now come on, I have some keyboards I need help-"

"Hey Taylor?" I turn to see Clint standing in the doorway. "Darcy and Natasha are arguing over femininity again, we need a referee."

She looks hopefully at me, and I wave her away. "Go on, go dictate almost-catfights between the Soviet and Miss Lewis."

She cheers and makes her way to the door, following Clint out.

Judging by the laughter echoing down the hallway, I think she'll fit in just fine.

That, and the fact that she can totally dethrone Coulson as the Dance-off king.


	34. Chapter 34

**Warning: I just read a really, really dark story in another fandom, it was one of those ones where there's a crime and then everything falls apart during recovery from said crime. So if this seems a little off, it's not my fault.**

* * *

The last day of school, Friday May 22nd, was bittersweet for me, as it always is. Yes, it meant about two and a half months with no kids, and yes, I was getting married in a month or so, but it almost meant a lot of goodbyes; leaving the twenty one kids I had spent most of the year with, teaching them how to grow and develop. I knew that the night would probably see me at Quigley's with a glass or two, just like it had the year before, and the year before that.

But before I could wash away my troubles, I had to make it to three o'clock.

Which meant I had to corral twenty one kids that knew they only had seven and a half hours left till freedom.

I eventually get them all to sit down and be quiet (quiet_er_, really) as I begin to talk about the animals and plants that they might see over summer break and their habitats and needs. I also take the chance to explain why it rains every summer afternoon. I explain about the sun and what it does to skin, reminding the kids that they needed to wear sunscreen when they were at a pool or the beach so they don't get sunburned.

Sammy raises her hand, ever the curious child. "What is sunburn?"

I lean back against my desk and try to think of an analogy, "Okay, who in here has ever touched something hot and got burned?" About seventy five percent of the class raises their hands. "Now, imagine the sun as that object. Sunburn is just a big burn on different areas of your skin. Sunscreen and sunblock act as gloves, protecting your skin against the heat of the sun."

Sammy nods and scribbles something in her notebook as I continue. "Now, what is everyone doing over the summer?"

They all started to shout at once. "I'm going to the water park!" "My mommy's taking me to Florida!" "My mommy and daddy and I are going on a big boat!"

"Settle down, everyone," I order gently. "Just because it's the last day doesn't mean you don't have to follow the rules. Now, I want to give you one last piece of homework." I chuckle at the collective groan and complaints. "It's not hard, I promise, it might actually be a bit of fun. I want all of you to take a few pictures, no more than ten each, of interesting things you see over summer. Next year, in second grade, your teacher – either Ms. Maximoff or Ms. Cage – will have a quick show and tell with the pictures and they'll create posters to put in the halls. Does that sound fun?"

They all nod and cheer, and I make a mental note to send a notice to parents as I walk them all to lunch. While they eat, I return to my classroom to work on removing posters and boxing my stuff. I alternate between peeling tape, snapping rubber bands over rolled up posters, and munching on the sandwich I had in my bag.

I make note of the scratched paint areas for the janitorial team, I do my best to sweep the floor, and make it down to the cafeteria with five minutes to spare. The teacher on lunch duty hand over my kids, and I herd them back to the classroom and give them busy work.

2:30pm comes faster than anyone expects, and I collect the kids' attention as I lean back against my desk for my usual farewell 'speech'. "Hey guys, listen up for a second."

They all watch as I clear my throat. "Now, I know you're all probably excited for summer and second grade, but take a minute to look back on this year. I've enjoyed teaching you, every single one of you, and I really hope you don't forget this year as you move on and grow up. By the time you come back in the fall, my name won't be Miss Stark anymore, it'll be Mrs. Barton-"

"Like Mr. Barton? My brother has him, and he says that Mr. Barton talks about you a lot."

I give a small smile. "I'm sure he does. Anyways, my name will be different, but I'll still be the same person. If any of you ever need to talk to me, I'll still be in the same classroom, right here. I'm going to tell you what I told my students for the past two years: I need you all to remember a few things as you grow up. One: don't change for anyone ever. Two: never listen to people who doubt you, tell you that you _can't. _Three: stay happy. Please keep your happiness. Now, on that note, let's get backpacks sorted for dismissal."

Darcy comes on with the last announcements of the year, wishing everyone a good summer, telling them to stay safe and have fun before giving the go ahead for dismissal. I lead the kids down to the cafeteria again; sorting them into extended day, bike riders, car riders, or bus riders before trudging back up to my now empty and silent classroom to begin moving boxes to my car.

"Miss Stark!"

I set the box in my arms down on the sidewalk outside as I see Erik and Agnes running towards me, Jane in tow. "Hey guys."

Agnes quickly throws her arms around my neck. "I'm gonna miss you."

"You'll see me in August," I point out. "I'm not going anywhere."

She nods slowly, still looking unsure.

"They wanted to say thank you," Jane explains as she walks up. "And so do I. You've made such a difference to them."

"All in a year's work," I smirk. "Just part of my job."

"Sewing a unicorn's head back on is in your job description?" Jane raises an eyebrow, referring to when I babysat her kids after Thor's accident.

I shrug as I watch the two little redheads bicker. "You know, you can bring them to the wedding."

Jane blinks. "Are you sure? You want the reminders of work there? Because I have a neighbor that can watch them-"

"They aren't reminders work as of," I check my watch, "forty five minutes ago. Your neighbor can pick them up after the ceremony."

"Alright," she shrugs. "If you insist."

I grin. "Oh, by the way, a tip for next year; see if you can get Miss Cage. Wanda's a great teacher, but she's a bit mellow. Jessica, on the other hand, has boundless energy and just catches my eye as a better fit for them. I'll see if I can pull strings."

She nods thoughtfully before studying her shoes. "I wanted to thank you, by the way, for your determination. I've heard the rumors about them around the school, and I can't say they're angels because they aren't. You didn't give up on them, instead you stayed and help them get better."

I put and hand on her shoulder. "Jane, when I first started here, I promised myself that I would never give up on any kid, no matter how bad. Every child has potential."

She nods distractedly as she watches her kids. "Erik, put that down…Agnes, don't-! Stop hitting, you two! I better get home, Taylor, thanks again."

I nod as I return to my box. "Take care, Jane. See you next month." I watch as her minivan pulls away, sighing as I continue towards my car.

Now was the time for emotional release, or so it seemed.

* * *

True to my prediction, I arrive at Quigley's around four, ordering a glass of the house specialty and a basket of seasoned fries.

I'm only slightly buzzed by the time I get company around five, and I don't even have to look up to see who it is as Clint orders a Coke.

"I figured my dad would be here."

"Your dad isn't marrying you in 29 days," he points out. "Plus, he is here, just outside and hunting down your car."

"But I have my key."

"And he has your spare key," he counters, and I nod silently, keeping my eyes on my glass.

"I hate this part,"0 he sighs.

"Tell me about it," I grunt. "At least you don't have little ones."

"At least your kids stay in the school for another three years," he counters, and I shrug as I clink my ice around in my glass. "There are pros and cons, I suppose."

I nod silently, keeping my eyes on the polished wood of the bar. "Who do you think has it easiest?"

"The specials teachers," he answers easily. "Natasha, Steve, Grey, and Thor don't have time to get attached. They see each group for about half an hour before they're gone for another week. They don't see the kids like we do, they can't tell you each kids' hopes, dreams, fears, career prospects, favorite book…" he trails off, and I nod at his point.

"You know, when I first started, I had no idea why I was so attached, it wasn't logical." I glance at my fiancé. "I asked Bucky after my first week, I think my exact words were _why do I care so much? It doesn't make any sense. _He just looked me in the eyes and said, _congratulations, you just got twenty-odd new children to help raise for 180 days._"

Clint nods, probably remembering similar words from Phil after he himself first started.

"And he's right. We watch these kids for eight hours a day, sometimes longer than their own parents, minus nighttime. We work our butts off to ensure their success at least in our class. It makes sense to get emotionally attached to an extent."

Clint nods and runs a hand through his hair. "If we're making inquiries to emotional happenings right now, you should probably know Barney's P.O. wants his head."

I scrub a hand over my face and groan. "Why doesn't he want us to help?"

He shrugs. "Plus, Michelle sent divorce papers this morning. He signed."

I rest my head in my hands. "What do we need to do to fix this?"

"I don't know, Taylor. I say we let the river run its course. We may just not be able to help."

"Don't give up on your brother, Clint," I warn, "don't you dare. He has nobody else now."

"I won't," he promises, leaning over to kiss my forehead. "Let's get heading home, shall we? It's been a long day."

I nod my agreement as Clint slaps money down on the bar and helps me stand, guiding me out to his car only after assuring me that my dad had driven my car safely home.

I fall asleep on the ride home, both the alcohol and the exhaustion pulling on my eyelids and letting me sink into a blissful oblivion.


	35. Chapter 35

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear me-e, happy birthday to me," I continue to hum the familiar tune over and over as I scroll through the Google results for bouquets. Today was May 30th, a Saturday, and I was turning 22.

The only well-wishes I had gotten so far was a call from my soon to be in-laws and a mumbled greeting said in passing by Barney, who had disappeared for the moment and probably the rest of the day. I knew everyone else cared, I just didn't know where they were at the moment.

I was shopping online for last minute wedding supplies; bouquet options, deciding on the hair clips for the bridesmaids to wear, and who should walk down the aisle with whom. I had about two weeks left until I walked down the aisle and became Mrs. Taylor Barton.

"Honey, I'm home!" I grin at the reference and look up as Clint steps into the room.

"Hey there birthday girl." He flops onto the couch, giving me a quick kiss as I switch tabs to keep him from seeing anything wedding related. "No fair."

I laugh at his fake pout. "It's only two weeks away."

He nods excitedly. "Oh, speaking of, Carol wanted to see if you could come over to check on the fit of her dress."

I sigh. "Well it doesn't look like I'm doing anything else today…your parents called, by the way."

"That's nice. Did they ask about-"

"No," I shake my head. "I need to get to Carol's before she becomes impatient and chops off a finger as penalty." I give him a kiss before grabbing my keys and heading out the door, hopping in my car to make the fifteen minute drive to Carol's house.

I knock on her door politely after double checking that I was at right address, listening as she shoos her cat away before opening the door. "Taylor, hi, come on in."

"Thanks." I slip my shoes off before stepping into her living room. "Clint said you needed me to check on your dress?"

"Oh, I got that figured out," she waves a hand. "Any chance I might know who I'm walking with?"

"Are you bringing a date?"

"I might be," she replies vaguely, and I narrow my eyes at her. "You have a dreamy look on your face."

"I do not."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Ha, no," she snorts as she sits down. "I just made a new friend, that's all."

"My six year olds look that happy when they make a new friend," I remind her. "You're in your late twenties."

"We're just friends, I swear!"

"Friends, sure, but the look on your face definitively says you're getting some."

She rolls her eyes at me. "Whatever you say."

"So friends with benefits, then?" I shrug. "Okay, just tell me at the wedding."

She shakes her head and sighs. "On another note, have you seen Wade Wilson recently?"

"No, not since he subbed for Mrs. Miller in April. I cut all ties, why?"

"I ran into him at the grocery store earlier this week."

I raise an eyebrow. "So…?"

"He wasn't alone."

"Carol, I really do not care if Wilson's seeing some action, he's weird and it's none of my business, so why-"

"He was with Darcy."

I choke on my saliva. "What?!"

"Wade and Darcy," she repeats. "I wanted to know if that was a thing or a one-time occurrence."

"I really hope it's not a thing," I shudder. "I mean, no offense, Darcy's great and deserves to be happy, but her plus Wade equals cat conventions and quirky weird overloads."

Carol scrunches up her face. "I guess we'll see at your wedding…man, your wedding is becoming, like, Judgement Day or D-Day or something, geez."

I snort. "So long as it serves its purpose."

"I suppose." She shrugs as her phone buzzes, glancing at the screen with a smirk. "What?" I question.

"Nothing. You can head home now, sorry for dragging you out here."

I squint but shrug and stand, grabbing my keys. "No problem, that's what friends are for and all that sentimental crap."

She grins as I walk out, and I barely catch a glance of her looking down at her phone and typing furiously. I shake off her behavior as I climb into my car and pull out of the driveway, deciding that either Carol would tell me when she was ready of I would find out first, whichever happened first.

The house is silent and dark when I step inside, and I furrow my brow slightly as I try and think of where Clint and Barney could be at that moment and why I didn't get a text or something telling me-

"Surprise!"

I squeal and jump back as the lights suddenly come on and everyone jumps out from behind the counter or the couch. Carol laughs and puts a hand on my back as she walks up behind me. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine." I blink owlishly at the people gathered in front of me.

"In that case," she shoves me towards Clint, "open your presents already!"

I brush off my shirt and send her a mock glare as the first present, a tall cylinder, is pressed into my hands. "It's from Natasha," I read the label, "Should I be scared?"

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Just open it."

"Seriously…"

"No, now open it!"

I tentatively peel back the wrapping paper to reveal a cardboard tube. Popping open the tube reveals a bunch of bubble wrap that when unwrapped shows a bottle of red wine.

I look questioningly up at Natasha, and she just shrugs and points towards my fiancé. "You're marrying _that _bozo."

I roll my eyes and chuckle as Clint slugs his best friend in the shoulder and Natasha smacks the back of his head in retaliation. "Thanks Tasha."

She grins as I reach for the next present, this one a soft, floppy package wrapped in cat motif wrapping paper. "Darcy, of course," I guess without reading the label. Darcy nods as I tear off the paper to reveal a long scarf, seemingly knit with little wrenches and bolts decorating it. "Aw, this is great Darcy. Did you make it?"

"No, Thor's mom did." She shakes her head. "So I suppose it's from them too because they aren't here."

"I love it," I grin as I fold the scarf up and set it to the side with the wine bottle and reach for the next present, this one wrapped in paper I vaguely recognize. "Dad, is this going to explode?"

"No, I promise."

"Sudden combustion counts as exploding."

"It's not!"

I sigh and tear back the paper. I squeal slightly at the book in my hands, _100 Sports Car Engines over the past 100 years_, and browse the engines shown on the cover. "Thanks, Dad."

"No biggie," he shrugs. "Just don't forget Father's Day."

"Deal."

The rest of the presents go by smoothly; Carol gives me a shirt reading '_I'm not anti-social, just anti-idiot.' _It takes me a while to regain my breath after that one. Bruce and Betty give me _Marriage: For Dummies_ – "You've only been married for about two months." I remind them, to which Bruce retorts "Which is longer than you have." – Bucky gives me a pair of gloves that let you use touchscreen devices but still cover your fingers, and Steve gives me a sketch he drew of me laughing at something Darcy said.

And then the only person left is Clint.

"My turn now?"

"It seems so, yes."

Clint reaches behind him and produces a small, non-wrapped red box. "Open it."

I take the box and remove the lid, my jaw dropping open slightly at the bracelet and four charms inside. "Oh, Clint…"

"You want to know what the charms mean?" At my nod, he continues, pointing at a small depiction of an angel like figure holding a small sun. "This one is the guardian of knowledge, and she protects wisdom and enlightenment. I found it fitting of Miss 198 IQ." He grins and points at the next one, this one showing an intricate knot. "This is the sailor's knot. It symbolizes unbreakable bonds and unions. You hold on tight to your loved ones."

I give a small smile and glance around the room. "I do, don't I?"

He nods and taps the next one, a small lotus blossom. "This represents the female spirit; grace, strength, and beauty, along with more unbreakable bond stuff." He points towards the last one, a tiny crescent wrench. "And I got this one because no matter what changes in your life, you know that metal stays strong and you can go hide in the garage when the weight of life becomes too much. Do you like it?"

"Like it? I love it," I grin.

_I love you, _he signs, _so much._

_I bet I love you more._

_I doubt it. _

I laugh and lean in to give him a kiss as he sips the bracelet on and runs a hand up my arm slowly.

"I have another present," he whispers before I pull away, "saved for later."

I can't help the sly grin that overtakes my face as I wordlessly kiss him again and pull back. Darcy looks at me like she knows exactly what we were discussing. "Um, we have cake…anyone want cake?"

I laugh and lead the way into the kitchen.

The rest of the night passes in laughter; with me teasing Carol about her 'friend', bugging Darcy about Wade, discussing failed experiments with Bruce, and nearly slapping my dad for following me around singing Taylor Swift's 22 off key and at the top of his lungs.

21 was amazing for me. I got engaged, attended a wedding, got to know my in-laws, and co-purchased a house – finally moving out from under my dad's reign and creating my own.

I have no doubt that 22 will be even better, with me getting married, starting my third school year, and who knows what else.

I truly have no idea what's in store – for once, I'm clueless.

But you know what?

I don't really want to know, either.

.

**So, there it is, Saved by the Bell. Before you murder me for not doing the wedding and leaving loose ends, hear me out.**

**I will be writing a shorter story covering summer break called **_**And they said summer was stress free!**_**, followed by a book depicting a second year in school. I might also do a related one-shot or two.**

**Stay tuned!**


	36. MAJOR AUTHOR'S NOTE

**Major Author's note! Important!**

**As of today, it has one year since I started writing my first book, **_**Iron Beta: Life as Tony Stark's Daughter**_**. One year. **

**I would like to give a huge thank-you to every person that's ever reviewed, favorited, or followed any of my stories, because there's actually quite a lot of you and you have **_**no idea **_**how much I appreciate all of you.**

**And now, a quick update. **

_**Iron Beta**_** 'verse (canon!Avengers): **_**Dissension**_**, the latest story in this verse, is coming along smoothly. I am accepting requests for one shots, please PM me if you have a request. And keep reviewing, following, etc.**

_**Saved by the Bell**_** 'verse (teacher AU Avengers): consider this verse on hiatus because my muse for that story died. Sorry for all of you that liked that story, but I am taking requests for other AUs as well. PM me or review with an AU idea.**

_**Whispers in the Dark**_** (canon!Harry Potter): this should be getting updated fairly smoothly. The only problem I have with this is that fact that I am literally getting almost no reviews. Do you guys not like this? What's your stance? PLEASE TELL ME. **

**If anyone has any questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, or the like, please PM me, review, or email me at ironsparrow99 [at symbol] gmail . com. **

**Thanks,**

**IronSparrow99.**


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